


are we so helpless against the tide?

by bobbydrake



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Autism-coded Reid, Big Brother Hotch, Bisexual Characters, Elle is questioning her sexuality, Emily is questioning her sexuality, Father Figure Hotch, Foster Care, Found Family, Gay Disasters, Gay Emily, Grant Anderson is here too, Kid JJ, Protective Hotch, Sick Spencer, Sloooooow Burn, TW: Suicide Mention, Tags to be added, Team as Family, Teen Derek, Teen Hotch, Theatre Kid Haley, actually everybody in this fix needs a hug, foster family AU, haley/hotch, kid Reid - Freeform, major tw: bullying, someone please give Hotch a hug, teen Rossi, teen emily, teen penelope, tw: Carl Buford plotline, tw: abuse mention, tw: carl buford, tw: molestation (mentioned), unconventional family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:08:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 170,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25352176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bobbydrake/pseuds/bobbydrake
Summary: So, he’s their unofficial official leader of sorts. He makes breakfast, he gets everyone and himself to school on time, he works from 3pm-8pm every weeknight and picks up the 8 hour shifts on the weekends so that their family can have enough money for food, school projects, thrift store clothes, and any other expenses that may come up in life. He reads stories to Spencer if he’s unable to fall asleep, (even though the kid has probably been reading Proust and Pound since he was crawling), he goes to JJ and Derek’s games, he helps Penelope with her homework when she doesn’t see the connection at first, and he listens to Emily when she needs a shoulder to cry on.They’re family, it’s what he’s supposed to do.
Comments: 269
Kudos: 344





	1. if you go your way and i go mine

**Author's Note:**

> hi! this is my first story in the CM fanfic archive but this idea popped into my head so i had to write it! it’s an AU where the team is a foster family but instead i put a unique twist on it to differentiate it from other foster family fics! in this story Hotch is 16 1/2, Spencer is 10, Derek is 15, Penelope is 14, JJ is 12, Emily is 16, and Rossi is 17. i hope you all enjoy and if you want to see more, leave me a comment!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: aspects of this work bear similarities to the separate publication “Patron Saint of Lost Causes”. the author of this work attributes the content in this chapter to the correct source (@themetaphorgirl). Publication of this work is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not replace the intellectual property of the above source. This work is intended for personal, non-commercial use only and the author attributes subsequently reproduced or reconstructed concepts to the original source, all rights reserved.

xxx

“Up and at ‘em, guys! Everybody get up! Bus leaves in twenty minutes!” 

It takes a lot to wake Derek Morgan up from a very specific dream involving him and one Natalie Portman circa 2002. A *lot* a lot. Like, even a horde of steam engines paired with thirty airhorns plus a plethora of gun shots was a poor match against the fifteen year old’s love for Natalie Portman.

However, his older brother shouting at the top of his lungs for him to “wake up and face the day” always seemed to do the trick.

“Damn it, Hotch,” he groans under his breath, rubbing the remnants of sleep from his eyes and silently cursing himself for staying up until midnight again cause he had ended up putting his English essay off for the last minute once more, despite his empty promises to his brother to stop procrastinating on his homework in favor of watching or playing football. “Are you part-megaphone or something?” He quips sarcastically, swinging his legs over the side of his bed and wincing at the chill that passed through his body as his bare feet grazed the cool tile below.

“Language,” His 16-year-old brother reprimands with a sharp look that Derek is well-accustomed to at this point in his life. He glances over at his 10-year-old brother still coming out of his own slumber across the room, his rollaway cot creaking with age as the younger boy stretches and yawns. “I’m surprised you could even hear me over your depraved *moaning* anyway.” Hotch shoots back almost ruthlessly, and although it’s very rare and very brief, Derek can see the faint shadow of a smirk on his older brother’s weary expression as he ducks out of the room, narrowly missing the pillow that Derek hurls at him, which hits the chipped doorframe and lands with a soft huff to the floor.

“Breakfast is on in two minutes, if you’re not up it goes to the dog!” Hotch calls from the hallway, his warning extended to the girls room which sits just a thin wall away from Derek, Spencer, and Hotch’s. 

“But we don’t have a dog.” A small voice croaks from next to Derek and he grins as he meets the brown-eyed gaze of his sweet younger brother. His soft, downy hair is ruffled from sleep and his second-hand pajamas hang off of his slight frame, making him appear even smaller than he actually is.

“I think he just means Emily, kid.” Derek jokes, forcing himself from the temporary comfort of his bed as he grabs an only-slightly wrinkled T-shirt from the hamper between his and Spencer’s bed. Both boys jump when they hear a sudden pounding on the wall next to theirs.

“I heard that, jerk!”

This time, Spencer smiles too.

xxx

In a house like theirs, mornings don’t come easy.

But, after four and a half years of diligent practice nine months out of the year, Hotch has got it down to a very precise and perfect science.

He’s the first to wake up out of any of his siblings, usually around 6am. He shares his room with Derek and Spencer, so he usually takes his clothes from the closet with the door removed (courtesy of the one and only Greg Hammond: asshole of the year) and heads to the bathroom to get ready. He showers in lukewarm water so the younger kids can have the hot water ready if they need to shower before school, and usually Derek and JJ are the ones who take morning *and* night showers because of soccer and football practice. But he knows how to budget for the water bill and so it’s a luxury they can afford considering everything else.

After he showers and gets dressed it’s about 6:30, so he’ll start breakfast which is always an ordeal. He doesn’t trust the shitty school lunches that they end up getting for free, but he hasn’t figured lunch meat and bread into the budget for five kids so he tries to make a big enough breakfast for them all and pack small snacks so they don’t end up going hungry, especially when each of them has extracurriculars to keep them occupied until almost 5pm each night. 9 times out of 10, breakfast is typically one scrambled egg for everyone, two pieces of toast or half a bagel (depending on which kid), a banana, and a bowl of cereal. JJ and Penelope like Lucky Charms, so he gets the off-brand kind when he goes grocery shopping for $1.25 less, but Derek, Emily, and Spencer will go for Cheerios which simplifies things. He used to like cornflakes but he settles for Cheerios because he can’t rationalize buying cereal that only he would eat. 

When he’s done cooking and the table is set with everyone’s breakfast, it’s almost always 7am at that point so he gets the pleasure of waking up five tweens/teens who are seemingly able to sleep through WWIII, or at least ignore it enough to get five more minutes of rest. He jokes that all of his siblings are deaf to the sound of any alarm clock, but it’s more reality than a joke. So he issues his first wake-up call at about 7am, but comes back 5 minutes later to ensure that everybody’s up. 

At that point, it’s a bit chaotic. Always pushing and shoving as they make it to the breakfast table and eat their food as fast as possible. Accusatory shouts like “who took my cleats? I put them right here last night!” or “How many times have I told you not to take my brush?” or “You can’t spend an hour in the bathroom when some of us need to pee!” 

Afterwards, the bus takes Derek, Emily, Penelope, and Spencer to Madison Heights High where Emily is a junior (same as him), Penelope is a freshman, and Derek and Spencer are sophomores.

Yes, his 10-year-old brother who should be in a fifth grade classroom learning about the boiled-down versions of the revolutionary and civil wars or learning what a fraction is, is instead a high school sophomore who takes only AP classes and is on track to graduate at age 12. 

He couldn’t be more proud.

He stays with JJ at her stop until her middle school’s bus comes ten minutes past the high school one, and then will hitch a ride with his best friend, David Rossi, who got a car for his sixteenth birthday. 

He and Dave have been inseparable since seventh grade when Aaron was relocated to Lake Ridge on his fourth and final foster home move. Dave was rowdy and spontaneous to his calm and concentrated, so they got paired together for every project in hopes that Aaron’s quiet demeanor would rub off on Dave’s propensity for disruption and quell some of his class-clown antics. No such luck, but the friendship stuck despite their stark differences. He had even gotten Dave a job serving at the inauthentic Mexican-style restaurant he’s worked at since sophomore year, although it was obvious that David Rossi was the furthest thing from needing a part-time minimum wage job in the world.

His parents are loaded from years of insurance underwriting and real estate work, so Dave lives on the nicer, posh side of Lake Ridge while Aaron and his family live more towards the “don’t-drive-around-here-at-night” side of Lake Ridge. 

The first time Aaron went over to Dave’s to spend the night in seventh grade, his jaw dropped at the size of the Rossi’s house and their four (four!) car garage. However, Mr. Rossi ended up having to drive him back home in the middle of the night when Dave’s cellphone rang with a call from a sobbing Derek (Hotch had given him the number just in case). Hotch never blamed his siblings for hindering him from having a seemingly normal life, because he would never know normal. Not after his parents passed. He knew that Derek calling for him in the middle of the night because of their drunken bastard of a foster parent was infinitely more important than any seventh-grade sleepover, so instead he just had Dave stay over at their place if he wanted to hang out. Dave never seemed to mind either, as an only child himself, he claimed to love hanging out with the younger kids and all the noise that came with having five siblings.

There was always noise, no matter what.

So, he lives for the tranquility of six am. As corny as it sounds, he likes to watch the first signs of dawn peek through the cracked rental blinds and he loves the temporary respite of a near-silent house. There’s always half-drunken snores coming from Greg’s room near the back door, but he’s learned how to tune those out. He’s learned a lot in four and a half years, arguably more than any sixteen (“and five months!” as Spencer loves to remind him) kid should have to.

While on paper it states that Greg Hammond, professional douchebag, is their legal guardian, everyone knows it’s Hotch. Even something as mundane as his nickname, a shortened version of his biological father’s surname, is indicative of his maturity. However, he wouldn’t trade his siblings or his experiences for anything. Losing both of his parents was enough, he didn’t need to lose the only real family he had known for the last four years. 

So, he’s their unofficial official leader of sorts. He makes breakfast, he gets everyone and himself to school on time, he works from 3pm-8pm every weeknight and picks up the 8 hour shifts on the weekends so that their family can have enough money for food, school projects, thrift store clothes, and any other expenses that may come up in life. He reads stories to Spencer if he’s unable to fall asleep, (even though the kid has probably been reading Proust and Pound since he was crawling), he goes to JJ and Derek’s games, he helps Penelope with her homework when she doesn’t see the connection at first, and he listens to Emily when she needs a shoulder to cry on. 

They’re family, it’s what he’s supposed to do.

xxx

Two years ago when she saw the final glimpses of her mother’s tear-stained face before she was ripped away from the still, lifeless form of the only source of love she had ever known, Emily Prentiss would have admitted she was the last person to think that her life would continue past that point.

For months, the images of her mother bleeding out from wounds of her own volition haunted her every waking moment. She would scramble up from nightmares, eliciting groans from the other girls who shared a room with her in her first foster home (which was honestly a bit more like a prison than a home). She would blink and see her mother’s pale countenance with dark eyes, staring straight up into eternal nothingness. She would sit in the back of each classroom and try not to let her mind wander to having to pick the lock on the bathroom door with a bent wire hanger only to find the worst possible scene she had ever had to witness in her fourteen short years of life. 

She figured that fourteen was enough after that point. She arrived at this conclusion when she was sitting in the backseat of her social worker’s 2012 Hyundai Sonata, turning out the lecture she was receiving for fighting with the house’s borderline abusive caretaker and that this was her final option before she ended up in a juvenile detention center for her ‘violence’ and ‘rage’. She wasn’t quite sure of what her exact methods would be, but she knew that she couldn’t keep living in a world where her mother was gone. What was the point? She didn’t tend to feel much those days anyway, save for the dull ache that settled in the pit of her stomach and the hot tears that sprung to her eyes in the privacy of a bathroom stall. 

*’They’re not gonna want you,’* a familiar, menacing voice hissed in her ear as she tentatively approached the front door with paint chips on the blue-tinted wood, trailing behind her social worker. *’Your own mother didn’t want you, that’s why she’s dead. You’re better off going the same way as her.’* the voice taunted as she shifted the weight of her single black trash bag containing all of her belongings over her shoulder.

Yeah. Some life she was giving up. 

But then, something changed.

No, it wasn’t the unsightly picture of her new foster “father” opening the door with his dark, beady eyes and his overgrown stubble to match his untrimmed front lawn. It wasn’t the obvious signs of substance abuse in his home or his mismatched and dilapidated furniture. It wasn’t the warning look that her uptight social worker gave her as she strode back outside after passing Emily’s file to her foster parent and engaging in brief, mandatory conversation. 

It was the curious brown-eyed, brown-haired boy that couldn’t be older than 7 or 8 peering at her from across the hallway. It was the welcoming smiles she got from the little blonde girl who was playing with a very worn stuffed animal on the floor of the room that her foster father, Greg, had gruffly directed her to. It was the clipped greeting from the almost-taller-than-her kid covered almost from head to toe in mud and grass and sporting a jersey and shoulder pads. And it was the exasperated reminder from the gangly-limbed, obsidian-haired boy for the tall kid to kindly “hose himself down before he came tracking an entire city’s worth of mud across the floors that I just mopped!” 

As soon as she first heard Spencer ramble on and on about the number of kernels on corn on the cob, or let JJ drag her outside to play soccer despite Emily’s claims that she would fall on her face, or joke with Derek and make faces behind Greg’s back when the horrible man was too drunk to stand upright, or see the faint ghost of a smile cross Hotch’s usually deadly serious expression, she knew that something had switched. Before she knew it, the months had flown by and although it was very different from the life she was accustomed to before The Incident, the furthest thing from her mind was leaving this new life behind. 

Before she had even been with her foster siblings for a full eight months, 13-year-old Penelope sauntered into their lives and suddenly everything felt complete. The girls room was just a bit more crowded with the introduction of another kid, but Emily didn’t mind that she now had to share her space even though she was used to being an only child (apart from her cat, Sergio) before. It was like she was apart of something very secret and hidden, that she had to keep locked away so nobody could harm it. She loved her family, despite their unconventionality about almost everything. 

So really, that’s why she attacked that punk kid in the hallway during the passing period between third and fourth hour today. Not in a form of violent rage or just to take out some energy on an unsuspecting target (she was well past the days where she would have to be reminded to keep her hands to herself, thank you very much), but because she loved her family, and she would fight *anybody* to protect them. 

Even if that meant she took the fall in the long run.

xxx


	2. little boat, big ocean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: aspects of this work bear similarities to the separate publication “Patron Saint of Lost Causes”. the author of this work attributes the content in this chapter to the correct source (@themetaphorgirl). Publication of this work is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not replace the intellectual property of the above source. This work is intended for personal, non-commercial use only and the author attributes subsequently reproduced or reconstructed concepts to the original source, all rights reserved.

xxx

“Did you know that there’s actually a rare genus of poisonous bird native to New Guinea?”

Spencer knows he’s not supposed to talk during their study hall period in the library, but it’s the only time during the day he has a class with Derek (excluding lunch, where the two didn’t eat together anyway cause Derek needed his space) and so he figures he has to make the most of it. He and his older brother were in the same grade, but Spencer was in the AP or IB version of all of the sophomore courses so he rarely saw Derek all day excluding study hall. Spencer had beamed when his brother chose to sit next to him the first day of classes instead of his friends on the football team. The show of affection, seemingly insignificant as it may be, was Spencer’s concrete lifeline in the dangerous waters of Madison Heights High. Of course, he could also always rely on Emily or Hotch or Penelope to help him out, but he loved the fact that he had Derek all to himself for a full 55 minutes of what was supposed to be individualized study. 

“No, I didn’t, kid. Tell me about it.” His brother encourages lightly, closing his textbook.

“Well the hooded pitohui, or pitohui dichrous, comes from the old world oriole family and-“ he tries to continue but is cut off by Derek.

“Like the Baltimore Orioles?” Derek teases, popping a half-smile. Spencer furrows his brow.

“Is that sports? Cause the Oriole is actually the state bird of Maryland and there are several types of similar migratory birds scattered across the Eastern seaboard.” Spencer shoots back, he takes a deep breath as he prepares to launch into another long winded rant about the presence of orioles and blackbirds across Maryland, but Derek interrupts again.

“Yeah. It’s baseball. Keep telling me the poison fact, kid.” His brother chuckles softly. Spencer likes how when Derek laughs he can see the corners of his eyes crinkle up with his grin. Spencer likes details like that about people, but it’s difficult for him to have prolonged eye contact with someone he doesn’t know very well, so he mainly notices these details in his siblings. Like how Emily bites her nails when she’s nervous or stressed, or how JJ braids a strand of her hair when she’s thinking hard about something so her hands are occupied. He picks up on a lot more than what people seem to notice, so he also tends to pick up on the negative aspects as well.

He’s no stranger to the cruelness of pre-teens and teenagers. Even before he came to live with his family, he was subjected to a lot of wadded up balls of lined paper thrown at his head and rude laughter. When he was six that sort of behavior used to confuse him. His mother had explained to him that sometimes people laugh when they’re being mean, in addition to when they find something funny. He didn’t like the multiple connotations of such a simple act, so his mother had told him to laugh along with them to confuse them the next time the older kids in his fourth grade classroom tried to be rude. Doing this had only resulted in even more paper balls being thrown at him, but he still appreciated the sentiment of expressing individuality instead of squandering it to try and conform to the social hierarchy of elementary school.

He missed his mother a lot sometimes. Especially during her more lucid moments.

As the bell rings, signaling the end of their study hall period, Spencer is explaining to his brother Fritz Müller’s theories of Müllerian mimicry and how it relates to the convergent evolution of the pitohui genus. He shoulders his backpack and begins to follow Derek out of the cool, dark library into the bustling throng of students making their way across the hall from one class to another. That’s when he feels the first shove that almost sends him sprawling before he’s able to catch himself and find his center again. 

“Watch it, freak.” The bigger kid hisses in his direction. While the rest of the hallway continues their mass exodus from class to class, Spencer feels the world in a sort of slow motion. There’s warning bells going off in his head as he rubs his shoulder and watches the older boy start to continue down the hallway, but he ignores them in favor of the words already tumbling from his mouth.

“Maybe you should watch where you’re going, mouth-breather!” He shouts back, definitely loud enough for the older kid to hear him in addition to all the passing students surrounding him as he stands stock-still in the middle of a bustling school hallway. Not the best insult, but he picked it up from JJ who tends to use it light-heartedly against Derek when he’s annoying her. He turns back around to see the look on Derek’s face, anticipating a positive reaction for finally standing up for himself, but Derek isn’t there. Spencer tries to peer over the head of the much taller crowd to see where his older brother is, but he can’t see much of anything when a sudden push to his back sends him face first towards the ground. He reaches out to steady himself with his hands as he falls, trying to block out the amused laughs from the rest of the students. 

He picks himself up, staring up at the much more intimidating face of the older kid before him, realizing just how screwed he is now that his only line of physical defense has disappeared across the hallway somehow. The guy could crush him with a single hit, and both parties seem to realize this at the same time.

“Stay the hell outta my way, jackass.” The kid snarls, his eyes locked into a steely glare. Spencer knows he’s in way too deep over his head. He should have just listened to the warning bells when they first came on, but now he’s in a Chernobyl-level situation with no defense all because he wanted to “prove” that he could stand up for himself.

‘*For someone with a 187 IQ, you’re not very smart sometimes’* he gripes to himself.

“Jackass, that’s a good one. Is that what they call you at home?” He quips, not knowing exactly why he chooses to arm himself with a dig at this guy’s home life. But he can tell from the dark circles under his eyes and his overly-muscled frame that this is a kid who 1. Has had to take on some kind of physical activity to either defend himself against a much stronger force or 2. Has had to take on some kind of physical activity to please somebody in his household that otherwise wouldn’t accept him or pay him much heed if he wasn’t training 24/7. 

Spencer watches as the boy’s face grows dark and his eyes turn stormy and he’s almost able to congratulate himself on his body language reading ability when he feels a fist connect with his nose and everything goes black.

Well, it was nice while it lasted.

xxx

Emily has to be honest, she’s not entirely sure of what happened.

One minute she’s walking with Penelope down the hallway. Her little sister has individualized study in the library fourth hour and Emily TA’s for Mr. Anderson so everyday she’ll catch up with Pen to walk together before class. Harmless, right?

The next thing she knows she’s grabbing a Neanderthal around his neck with the crook on her elbow and digging the toe of her sneaker into the back of his knee so he falls to the ground before she kicks him sharply in the ribs. She has her mother’s self defense classes to thank for that maneuver. 

But she has a good reason, and that’s what she’s trying to explain to Vice Principal Strauss when she’s sitting shame-faced in her office four minutes later.

“So you witnessed the attack from Mr. Dern on your younger brother, Spencer?” Strauss clarifies her incident report for what feels like the ninetieth time. *’Yes you old bat! I just said that!’* she wants to shout, but she restrains herself in the interest that she’s already in more trouble than previously imaginable. *’Great job Em, show self restraint after you try to beat up a kid in the hallways.*’ she sarcastically reminds herself, sounding a bit too much like Hotch for her own comfort.

“Yes ma’am.” Emily confirms, trying hard to fight the urge to pick at her hangnail.

“And you figured that violence was the only way to achieve this result?” Strauss drones, quirking an eyebrow. Emily tries not to let the hatred show on her face at the woman’s query. 

“He was five times bigger than my brother, who’s only 10,” Emily reminds, doing her best to curb her unbridled exasperation. “He was the one who punched him first, so really, I was just finishing what he started.” Emily tries to joke, but Strauss merely frowns deeper as she scribbles something on the incident report lying atop her desk. For a moment, the only noise in the room is Strauss’ fountain tip pen scratching the paper and the slight whirr of the portable fan in the corner of the room. 

Strauss clears her throat before speaking again. “No matter what the situation, Miss Prentiss, we *never* use violence to further escalate a situation. You should be well aware of those consequences by now.” She reminds Emily haughtily. She feels the rage boiling inside of her like a pot left on the stove for too long and before she can remind herself to contain it, she explodes.

“Well what about that jerk that punched my brother in the face? Y’know the one who started all of this? Do you think *he’s* aware of that rule?” She snaps, growing more and more aggravated by the second. Strauss’ lips thin into a fine white line and her forehead creases even deeper.

“Mr. Dern is being dealt with accordingly-“ she begins, her collected tone a stark contrast against Emily’s passionate rage. However, Emily cuts her off before she can continue offering false platitudes.

“What? A slap on the wrist cause he’s on the football team?” She snaps sarcastically and Strauss’ brow furrows. Emily would laugh at the sight if she wasn’t acutely aware of all the trouble she was in.

“Miss Prentiss, your display of unmitigated violence and your abysmal behavior will not stand at Madison Heights much longer. I’m going to call your legal guardian, but consider this a first warning. If this pattern of rage and anger continues I’ll have no choice but to-“ she almost finishes her threat, but is interrupted by a sudden pinging from her desktop screen. It sounds like a standard notification, so Strauss turns quickly to close the distraction before continuing. “As I was saying,” she picks up after she closes the pop-up on her screen. She almost gets another word in when a different notification tone comes from  
the desktop. Her chagrin is evident on her face as she goes to close yet another notification.

It all begins to click when before Strauss can even turn her swivel chair around to face Emily again, three more notification sounds ping from her desktop monitor.

*’Oh Penelope Garcia, you wonderful genius.’* she smirks, but quickly wipes the trace of a smile off her face before the frenzied vice principal notices. Emily peers around the corner of the desk to catch a brief glimpse at Strauss’ monitor and sees the barrage of different pop-ups violating her screen, paired with the very annoying sound of hundreds of notifications flying in at once at different, overlapping tones. 

She has to bite her cheek hard to stop from smiling when the portly receptionist bursts in Strauss’ office and claims in a panic that her computer is ‘freaking out!’.

“Miss Prentiss, you’re excused to return to your fourth period, but you will be here immediately following the final bell for detention.” Strauss permits and Emily ducks out of the office with no hesitation, hiding her smile as she nearly dances with glee out of the front office.

All she knows is that the first thing she’s gonna do when she gets her next paycheck is buy Penelope whatever she wants. The kid deserves it.

xxx

“So it was actually super easy after I programmed the option to insert malicious commands after the user engages with the first ad. By clearing the first notification in the left-hand corner, the program automatically corrupts the hard-drive with the oversized load to crash as the user basically downloads the virus onto their own computer.” 

It’s late, after Hotch has gotten home from work, Emily is out of detention, Penelope is done with yearbook, Spencer is back from academic decathlon, and JJ is home from  
soccer practice. Penelope is explaining to them all how she was able to corrupt three office desktops with a virus that only a highly skilled IT employee could even attempt to fix as Hotch examines Spencer’s swollen and bruised face for anything more than superficial injury. He doesn’t trust the judgement of the school nurse who basically told Spencer to just put some ice on his bloody nose, but he doesn’t think anything’s broken which is a relief. His paycheck from serving and Emily’s pay from the antique store put together would not be nearly enough to cover emergency room bills. 

“And nobody saw you?” Hotch asks tentatively, knowing that his little sister would fare a lot worse in life if she got expelled for infecting three computers with malicious code just to bail Emily out of trouble (who he’s already spent a good forty minutes lecturing on how reckless she was). 

“Nope! I think they were all still shocked over Em beating Jack Dern into a pulp.” Penelope jokes, flashing a smile towards her sister. Hotch fails to see the humor in the situation and sighs as he tilts his younger brother’s head more into the light to see his bruise.

“Well, I think you’ll live, but take an ice pack  
again to get the swelling down. We don’t need an inquiry from DFS asking why you’re showing up to school with a giant bruise.” He orders. Spencer nods diligently before hopping down off the countertop where he was sitting as Hotch checked over his injuries, and Aaron reaches out to ruffle the boy’s mop of soft, brown hair as he races to the freezer to pull out an ice pack. 

“Hey, where’s Derek?” JJ questions from the kitchen table where she’s been sitting doing her homework since after dinner. Hotch’s eyes stray to the digital clock on the microwave and notices that Derek should have been home from football almost thirty minutes ago. He feels a deep knot of worry grow in his chest as he takes a glance outside and knows that walking through their neighborhood at night is not a good idea. However, before he can voice his concerns, Emily speaks up.

“Yeah, funny. That’s the same thing I asked when I saw Spencer getting decked today right after they have study hall together.” She points out sarcastically and Hotch doesn’t even need to look over at her to know she’s pissed. Like him, Emily grows protective over anyone in her family, but she’s also often to first one to assign blame when something goes wrong. The case is no different here and he can tell that he’s probably going to end up breaking up a fight between his headstrong sister and his other younger brother later on.

“Look no further, mes amis, it looks like they’re pulling up right now.” Penelope points out. She’s right, the familiar headlights of Rossi’s car in his usual spot on the street shine through their front room window and it’s only a second more before Derek barges into the house in a pretty clear bad mood with Aaron’s best friend trailing in behind him. Hotch quirks an eyebrow in silent inquisition at Dave who provides a shrug.

“I was coming out of the computer lab and I saw him leaving the field twenty minutes after practice ended. He told me he was gonna walk so I just drove him. Had to fight to convince him to take a ride though, maybe tell him to lay off the ‘roids this week cause I almost ended up with a black eye to match Spencer’s nose.” His best friend jokes, ever wittily with his classic one-liners. 

“Funny,” Hotch shoots back sarcastically. His eyes dart around the room for his younger brother but the boy must have retreated to the bathroom to shower because the dining room/kitchen is still only occupied by four of his five siblings. “You want dinner?” Hotch offers, knowing that there’s still some leftover pasta from what Emily made that night.

“Nah, I gotta get home. But I’ll see you tomorrow, man.” Dave declines before clapping Aaron on the back and heading out the front door to his car. Hotch doesn’t blame him either; he has no doubt that his friend could sense the tension in the room since Derek’s arrival.

“What the hell is his problem?” Emily scoffs furiously as Hotch turns back around. He can understand her frustration, but still has to reserve judgement.

“Language.” He chides reflexively, ignoring Emily’s signature eye roll. He’s just about to sit down and pull out his own homework across from JJ when his other younger brother emerges from the bathroom. He hasn’t showered but he’s changed from his sweaty school clothes into his pajamas. Hotch feels a pang of sympathy as he watches his kid brother walk into the kitchen. He can sense the exhaustion radiating off him in waves and he knows that the boy isn’t up for a fight from his sisters. 

“What’s up?” The 15-year-old ventures warily as he pulls the shredded cheese and corn tortillas from the fridge, preparing to make himself a quesadilla like he typically will if he’s hungry. 

“Derek! I got punched in the face!” Spencer exclaims from beneath his ice pack with the excitement and candor only achievable by a 10-year-old. He hears JJ stifle a laugh from across the table.

“You what?” Derek asks, startled by the sudden revelation. Hotch is slightly surprised at the confusion. How could Derek not know?

“Spence, go get ready for bed.” Hotch orders and the youngest boy nods before exiting the kitchen, brown fluffy hair bouncing along with him as he makes his way to the bathroom to brush his teeth. 

“He got *punched*?” Derek clarifies, turning to Hotch for answers. He still seems shocked, his expression a mixture of confusion and protective anger.

“Yeah, he did. And where were you when Jack Dern was beating him up in the middle of the hallway?” Emily suddenly snarls, her dark eyes blazing with unbridled rage at her younger brother. Hotch feels like he’s watching a nature documentary right before the hungry lioness sinks her teeth into the meaty flesh of an unsuspecting gazelle, so he attempts to step in.

“Em-“ he begins, but is cut off by an impudent Derek.

“What? How the hell is this my fault?!” Derek hisses, glaring back at Emily.

“You were walking with him right after third period and then suddenly he’s being picked on by that behemoth of a sophomore and you’re nowhere to be found? Seems convenient, huh?” Emily shoots back, tucking a lock of dark hair behind her ear with a quick hand.

“I- what?! Don’t try to pin shit on me about this! I didn’t know what was happening,  
I was literally just walking down the hall!” Derek defends himself, growing more and more enraged by the second.

“How come you didn’t notice the commotion? Was it cause Dern’s on the football team with you? Is that it? Didn’t wanna upset your varsity buddies just to protect your brother?” She taunts and Hotch knows that move all too well. When Emily gets an idea or a theory in her head about what happened, she hangs onto it for dear life, even if it’s the furthest thing from the truth possible.

“Shut up!” Derek roars, and Hotch has to rush over to restrain the boy when he makes a move towards Emily. He’s never seen Derek this furious about anything and it’s like he has his arms wrapped around a raging bull rather than his little brother who he’s held for hours before calming him down from nightmares or hugging him when he just needs a brother. 

“Face it, Der! You care more about Coach Buford and that stupid football team than you do about Spencer!” Emily screams, her voice hoarse with frustration and unshed tears. Hotch vaguely recognizes Penelope rushing over to Emily to hold her back from  
approaching Derek. 

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” Derek yells, but his tough-guy resolve doesn’t hold up for long and his thin bravado breaks as his voice cracks and Hotch feels the boy sob against him. He doesn’t have to continue to restrain Derek by his arms as the kid’s body goes slightly limp and he begins to cry. Hotch, shocked at the outcome of the fight, spares a glance over to Emily who looks equally as surprised as he must be. This isn’t usually how fights end in their house. Typically one sibling will leave in an exasperated huff while the other vents to another sibling before one or both of them is ready to apologize and move on. 

It’s never been this bad. Hotch knows something is wrong, and it doesn’t take Spencer’s level of genius to figure that out.

“Hey, you’re okay, kid. It’s okay, I’ve got you,” Hotch begins to sooth calmly as Derek sobs openly. He releases his hold on the younger boys well-toned arms and isn’t surprised when he feels his younger brother turn around and envelop himself willingly in Hotch’s arms. For a guy who claims to be the toughest kid around, Derek is all soft understand a hard shell developed from years of abandonment and uncertainty. Hotch sees it in the way he takes care of Spencer or JJ or the way his best friend in the entire world is Penelope and how he chooses to spend time with her over his football buddies. He runs a hand up and down the length of his little brother’s back in a hopefully soothing motion, allowing the kid who’s almost as tall as he is to cry himself out. “Shhh, I know, kiddo. I know. It’s gonna be okay.” He promises, although he knows that whatever is bothering his little brother has got to be something bigger than a missed play during practice or a failed test. Derek doesn’t cry easily.

He registers Emily stepping forward gently. “Der, I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I’m so sorry.” She admits, her voice barely above a whisper as she places a hand on her little brother’s shoulder. Derek nods into Hotch’s chest, but Emily sees the movement and her shoulders visibly relax. Hotch knows that for all of Emily’s claims about not caring what people think, she would be devastated if somebody didn’t forgive her, especially Derek.

“I think we should all get to bed.” JJ proposes to her sisters and Hotch sends a silent thank you to the level-headed 12-year-old girl who always seems to know how to diffuse a situation. 

The three girls leave the kitchen after grabbing their backpacks, leaving Hotch alone with Derek for a few blissful moments of silence. Aside from Derek sniffling and calming himself down from his crying bout, there is no noise to be heard in the small house. Hotch merely runs his hand across Derek’s strong back, trying not to think about how the kid is almost as tall as he is now. It takes a few minutes, but Derek eventually pulls away and wipes his face with his shirt sleeve. He’s clearly embarrassed and Hotch can tell this from the way that Derek won’t meet his gaze. However, he needs his brother to know that there’s nothing to be ashamed of.

“Look at me,” Hotch orders and the boy takes a moment but finally meets his gaze. His dark eyes are puffy from crying so fiercely, but Hotch can see the sadness and pain behind them. It hurts to see his brother like this, so he places a gentle hand on Derek’s shoulder. “I am always here for you no matter what. Same with everyone else in this house, but you need to let us in when something’s wrong. Okay?” He explains, maintaining eye contact in order to get his point across.

“Okay.” Derek mumbles, still looking utterly miserable. 

“Do you promise to come to me if something’s bothering you?” Hotch asks, his tone as serious and commanding as could be.

“Yeah, yeah. I promise.” Derek groans, squeezing his eyes shut to break the staring match he’s locked in. “Can I please go to bed? I’m exhausted.” He begs and even though Hotch is well aware the kid is probably bluffing just to get him off his back, he relents his grip on Derek’s shoulder and nods.

“Goodnight, kid. I love you.” He sighs, pulling Derek into a quick hug once more. 

“Love you too.” Is Derek’s muffled reply from inside the embrace. Hotch watches as the boy treks back to their shared bedroom before shutting the door gently behind him so not to wake up Spencer (who probably isn’t even asleep considering all the noise they were making). Disheartened by the evening’s events, Hotch turns back to the kitchen counter and begins clearing away all the mess from dinner and Spencer’s impromptu nose examination. He knows deep in his heart that Derek is lying about coming to him for help, but he can’t do anything about that until the issue arises again naturally. Experience tells him that if he pushes it, Derek will just close himself off even more and risk himself to keep his secret. So, he has to lie in wait until the time is right.

That doesn’t mean he can’t do some investigation in the meantime. 

xxx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! please leave a comment down below if you liked it!


	3. there’s nothing i won’t understand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: aspects of this work bear similarities to the separate publication “Patron Saint of Lost Causes”. the author of this work attributes the content in this chapter to the correct source (@themetaphorgirl). Publication of this work is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not replace the intellectual property of the above source. This work is intended for personal, non-commercial use only and the author attributes subsequently reproduced or reconstructed concepts to the original source, all rights reserved.

It’s nights like these where she really, truly misses her privacy.

It’s not that Penelope doesn’t love her sisters more than anything, she definitely does. But, sometimes sleeping in the queen-sized mattress with JJ who has an annoying tendency to always kick Penelope right in the thighs as she shifts in bed gets old. Add to that Emily blasting music from her very broken headphones that the rest of the room’s occupants can definitely hear and some light snoring? It doesn’t always make for a peaceful, idyllic scene.

It’s the kind of night where she’s been tossing and turning for hours, even earning a smack in the head from JJ’s pillow for keeping her up. It’s the kind of night where she just can’t seem to turn her brain off as she replays every instant of her day from beginning to end and obsesses over tiny details. It’s the kind of night where she needs to be alone.

But obviously, that’s just a bit unrealistic.

So, she makes sure to stay quiet as she slides out of her and JJ’s shared bed and tiptoes past Emily’s side of the room and makes her way out into the hallway. A brief glance at the boy’s shut door elicits a sigh of relief and she’s able to let her guard down slightly as she makes the trek out to the living room. The house is not much, but the couch is a good place for thinking. The porch light from the back patio mixed with slivers of moonlight stream through the poorly designed blinds and creates a kind of magical ambiance that is only achieved by being awake in the dead of night.

Evidently, she’s not the only one who thinks so.

“Der Bear? What are you doing up?” She questions in hushed tones, glancing around for anybody else who may have been invited to this impromptu midnight rendezvous. Her older brother cracks a tired smile, probably at her choice of nickname. A little over a year prior, when she first came to live with her foster family, Derek and her had become fast, unsuspecting friends. He trusted her with most things, including confiding in her the embarrassing nickname that his mother used to call him. In return, Penelope used the nickname (one of her personal favorites) when it was only the two of them in a room. She knew that whenever her mother had called her “baby girl” she had felt a warm feeling spread throughout her body and linger for moments afterwards, so she used the nickname Derek’s mother had for him in order to stimulate the same emotional response, or even make him feel a little better after being down.

Tonight was the perfect example of that.

“I’m just thinking,” the older boy admitted, staring straight ahead at the blank TV screen. The set is old and barely works, but it works just enough to play the old box set of Doctor Who DVD’s Hotch and Emily bought her for her 14th birthday, so she only uses it to watch the show with Spencer. 

“About?” Penelope prods, taking a seat on the sofa next to her brother. She pulls her legs up in a criss-cross position and ticks her hands under her shins to warm them. October is fast approaching and she can feel the chill in the house settling in.

“Just stuff. What are *you* doing up?” He deflects, clearly not in the mood to discuss his emotional state after such a dramatic precursor. 

“JJ kicks with the force of about 30 Russian men and Emily snores like them. Together they’d make a very good addition to the USSR.” She quips light-heartedly and Derek almost chokes trying to quiet his laugher. She feels a grin spread across her face at the sight of her older brother laughing and finally feels like she’s able to do something right. 

They fall into idle, companionable silence. Emily thinks of a line from a book they read in English last year: “the best kind of friendship is when you don’t even need to talk to know what the other is thinking, you just know.” 

For a stretch, the only noise being made is the soft chirping of crickets from the patio. Penelope can’t even hear their foster father’s usual drunken snores from his room which points her towards the conclusion that the terrible man they just so happen to live with is most likely at some bar way across town. Penelope figures if those bartenders were smarter they might start charging Greg rent for each night.

She thinks Derek may have accidentally fallen asleep sitting up (it’s possible, she does it in class all the time) but then he speaks again, his voice slightly hoarse from lack of use.

“D’you- do you think I’m...that I’m, well, that we’re gonna be okay?” 

The question is so unnervingly unlike him. Her older brother is not unsure of things like this. The boy she’s known for a year and a half now is not tentative or nervous or vulnerable. She almost wants to joke to lighten the deep tension surrounding his unprecedented question, but figures the situation calls for a more delicate approach.

“Whaddya mean?” She questions, turning her head slightly to face him. He merely stares straight ahead instead, lips pursed and forehead creased as he seems to be in deep thought.

“Well I mean like, do you think that after all we’ve been through that we’re gonna be normal people? That all this bullshit we have to deal with isn’t gonna come back and ruin our lives because we can’t deal with it one day?” He sighs, leaning back into the couch cushions with an exhausted huff and digging the heels of his hands into his closed eyes, massaging them in a hypnotic manner. “I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do if one day I have a kid and all this shit happens to him? How am I supposed to stop that from happening?” He wonders aloud and Penelope feels her heart sink to the bottom of her chest at her brother and best friend’s admission. It’s painful to watch him struggle, but it’s even more painful when she realizes that she doesn’t have the answers to his questions. 

Instead, she merely pushes herself closer to Derek to rest her head on his shoulder.

“I can’t answer your questions, and I’m sorry, but I don’t know. I don’t know how we’re supposed to save ourselves from letting this stuff follow us throughout life, but I know that it can’t be all bad if it’s the reason I know you.” She explains, finally feeling the tiredness of her sleepless night settling in her body as she leans against her older brother. Derek seems to relax and grow less tense as she breathes in and out and she soon realizes that he’s copying her breathing pattens. 

It feels nice to just exist with the moonlight streaming in and the feeling of being close to someone she loves.

“Thanks, Pen.” Derek expresses after a few moments of silence. 

“For what?” She demands tiredly, stifling a yawn. She’s not being sarcastic or witty, she really is seeking clarification for his gratitude. She’s not exactly the queen of good advice so she’s unsure of what he’s thanking her for.

“For being here.” He admits and she feels his cheek rest against the side of her head from where it rests on his shoulder. Neither of them speaks again, and within minutes they’re both fast asleep.

xxx

9 times out of 10, it’s the same routine.

6am wake up, get dressed in the bathroom, shower, make breakfast, wake everyone up, walk JJ to the bus stop, get a ride from Rossi. It’s not rocket science.

But very rarely, he’ll switch things up. He’ll wake up ten minutes earlier or make something different for breakfast if he has the time on a weekend. He figures it’s healthy to vary things so he doesn’t fall into a monotonous rut every day of his life. But, he’s always on time no matter what.

Evidently, today is not one of those days.

“Hotch! Hotch, wake up! We’re gonna be late!”

The voice sounds so distant, he’s almost 100% positive that it’s somebody calling him from inside a dream. It’s as if somebody is speaking to him through a trumpet, their words muted and garbled. However, when he distinctly registers somebody shaking his shoulder harshly he realizes that maybe the voice might just so happen to be real.

Not good.

“I- wha?” He murmurs, running a hand across his face and trying to force his eyes open against the bright sunlight. Bright. That’s not normal, it’s never this bright when he wakes up. Usually only the trace glimmers of morning’s first light are streaming through the window. He realizes what’s happening when he spares a glance at the old alarm clock sitting on his bedside table and his heart nearly falls out of his chest. 

“Fuck!” He curses under his breath before realizing that the kid shaking his shoulder and shouting at him to get up was Spencer. “Don’t repeat that.” He orders curtly before launching himself out of bed and hurriedly throwing a pair of jeans over his boxer shorts. The shirt is clean enough to wear with a jacket over it and he quickly slips on his shoes. “Who else is up?” Hotch demands, brushing an agitated hand through his dark hair to return it to its usual state.

“I don’t know! I just woke up and saw the time.” Spencer admits, almost as frantic as Hotch. Aaron feels guilty for worrying the kid so much, but he knows that if they’re not at the bus stop in eight minutes, then there’s no chance of getting to school. He takes in the appearance of his younger brother briefly. 

“Get dressed and grab a granola bar. I’ll get everyone else up, but make sure you have everything for school.” He instructs, trying to not let his panic show on his face. The last thing he needs this morning is Spencer getting worried as well and having him misplace his backpack or a left shoe in his frenzied state. 

As Spencer hurries to throw on his clothes Hotch bursts out of their room without a second glance and in a few short strides he’s opening the door to his sisters’ room. Whether their decent or not, Hotch shuts his eyes and yells into the room.

“Get up guys, we’re gonna be late! I’m not messing around!” He orders, his wake up call much stricter than usual. He hears the telltale signs of rustling of bedsheets but doesn’t bother to open his eyes to check whether or not they’re getting out of bed before he turns the corner and rushes into the bathroom.

‘*Okay*,’ he mentally preps himself as he hurriedly squeezes out a glob of mint toothpaste onto his toothbrush and wastes no time getting it in his mouth. ‘*It’s 7:23 now. The high school bus is gonna be at its stop at 7:30. It takes them usually five minutes to get to the stop but they can do it in three if they run. JJ’s bus comes at 7:40 but it takes eleven minutes to walk to the stop so I need to leave with her by 7:28, which is fine because we usually leave only a few minutes before then. As long as everyone is dressed and out the door in less than three minutes we ca-‘*

“Hotch! Open up! I have to use the bathroom!” JJ cries from outside the door as he spits out his toothpaste and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He flings open the door and passes JJ as he makes his way into his room to grab his backpack.

When he opens the door to his bedroom he’s immediately greeted with the sight of Derek turning their hamper upside down in search of what Hotch hopes is a pair of jeans because he’s not too sure about the rules on showing up at school in just white briefs, but he’s positive that it’s out of dress code. 

When he reaches the kitchen, he’s greeted with the sight of only Emily and Spencer dressed and with their backpacks. He does a mental check. JJ’s in the bathroom and Derek’s hopefully dressing to a societally acceptable degree, but there’s one missing.

“Where’s Penelope?” Hotch questions aloud, sparing a nervous glance at the digital face of the microwave’s clock. 7:25. If Penelope, Derek, Spencer, and Emily aren’t out the door and running to the bus stop in less than a minute then they won’t make it for sure. At that point, Hotch wouldn’t know what to do. The walk to Madison Heights isn’t far, but four (five including him) late slips well past the first bell will certainly elicit a call to their guardian. Then comes confrontation with said guardian, (which Hotch tries to avoid at any and all costs) and then Hotch standing up to aforementioned guardian and finally, Hotch ending up with a split lip or bruised eye. 

He’ll take scrambling to get to the bus stop over that any day.

“We found her and Derek asleep on the couch!” Spencer blurts out incredulously and Hotch merely furrows his brow. Why would they be sleeping on the couch? Why would they both be out there at once? Why the hell didn’t his stupid alarm clock work?

“Have you ever tried minding your own beeswax?” A snarky voice sounds from behind Hotch as Penelope approaches, struggling to get her arm through one of her crumpled up jacket sleeves. Derek follows behind her, thankfully fully dressed.

7:26. Perfect

“Actually did you know that beeswax is used by the honey bee genus Al-“ Spencer begins but Hotch cuts him off.

“Go!” He shouts and the four are out the door before a person could say “beeswax”. He doesn’t need to remind them to run for their lives, he’s sure they know by now. 

The door slams shut behind them and he grabs a few snacks from the cupboard for JJ. He can finally breathe for a few seconds as the overwhelming fear begins to die down. Typically, he’ll leave with JJ at least three minutes earlier because he’s always on time, always put together. Except for today, obviously. But he’s okay with cutting it a little close. They won’t have to run for JJ to catch her bus and Rossi will pull up in his ridiculously flashy Mercedes-Benz Roadster (courtesy of his rich father) two minutes later. Hotch will hop in the front and control the aux until they reach Madison Heights nine minutes later. It’s schedule, it’s routine, and that’s how he likes things. 

7:27.

“Jayje! We gotta go, kid!” He calls down the hallway. The last he heard from her she was banging on the bathroom door, demanding to be let in. He checks the bathroom, but the light is off and the door is open so he knows that she’s not in there for any reason. He turns around and heads into her room where what greets him is even worse than waking up to sleeping through his alarm. 

JJ has almost turned everything in the girls room upside down. She’s frantically shifting underneath the clutter beneath Emily’s bed when she notices Hotch and he notices her tears.

“I-I can’t find my cleats!” She cries, her face red from a mixture of anger and panic. Hotch’s heart gives a painful jump and he feels sympathetic towards her situation, but knows that they have to leave now or they won’t make it to the bus stop. 

“Hey, calm down. It’s okay, it’s just one practice,” Hotch comforts, trying to be pragmatic. “I’m sure your coach will understand.”

“No! We have our first game tomorrow night and if I can’t be at practice tonight then coach won’t start me tomorrow and I’ll be on the bench in front of everyone!” She hiccups as she cries in-between her words and Hotch’s heart breaks even further. He hates seeing his little sister this upset. There’s a very small part of him that wants to tell her that she’ll recover from one missed game. That being a starting player on a middle school soccer team isn’t going to make or break the rest of her life. That getting to school on time is a little more important than missing a single soccer practice. Every logical part of his body is screaming at him to tell her that she needs to get up and come with him or they won’t make it on time. 

But, he doesn’t. Instead he gets down on his knees and begins to search under Emily’s bed with her. Because, he knows. He knows how devastatingly important soccer and her team are to her. He knows that while to him it may not seem like the end of the world, it definitely is to her. He knows that JJ doesn’t have a lot of stable aspects of her life all the time, but that her dedication to her team is just one of the few things she depends on and uses to get through her day. So he searches for the missing pair of cleats with his little sister as her tears subside and she begins to calm herself down from the brink of panic.

It’s almost four minutes later by the time she triumphantly digs the shoes out from under one of Penelope’s dresses near the far end of their closet and he barely gives them a second to breathe before she’s shoving the cleats in her gym bag and both of them are sprinting down the street like they can see the finish line of the Boston Marathon. 

They arrive, sweaty and out of breath at the bus top. Just in time...

To see the yellow school bus turning the corner out of the neighborhood and back onto the main road. 

He pants heavily with labored breath and steals a sidelong glance at JJ who looks like she just witnessed a puppy getting run over in the street. Even though he’s doubled over with his hands on his knees and his lungs burning from the eleven minute walk they turned into a seven minute sprint, he manages to start laughing. Despite the situation not being funny in the slightest, a chuckle escapes his mouth and he surprises even himself with his nonchalance towards the absurdity of their situation. 

“What’s so funny?” JJ questions, still downcast. “We missed it.” She frowns, her eyes narrowing in confusion as Hotch tries, and fails, to stop himself from laughing even harder. 

“I-I don’t know.” He admits, running a hand though his sweaty hair. JJ stares at him for another moment before a small smile breaks out on her face and before he knows it they’re both standing on the corner of 13th and Lawton, cracking up over absolutely nothing and everything at the same time.

It’s only when Rossi approaches a few minutes later like he always does that Hotch finally calms himself down and walks up to the passenger side of Rossi’s Mercedes.

“Hey.” He begins, but he doesn’t even need to say more. 

“She missed the bus?” Dave asks, nodding towards JJ who is hidden halfway behind Hotch’s tall figure. The other boy merely nods with resignation and is not at all surprised when Dave breaks out in a grin. “I’ve been dying to see how fast this thing can *really* go since I got it. Now’s the perfect opportunity.” His smile is borderline psychopathic and Hotch flicks him playfully on the forehead as he climbs in the two-seater Mercedes convertible. It’s a tight fit, and definitely illegal, but he and JJ are skinny enough to share the passenger seat.

“You kill us, I come back and kill you in the afterlife.” He threatens, buckling the seatbelt around both him and JJ. He knows they can make it to her middle school on time but he and Rossi will end up being late for first period, which obviously will never bother Dave as much as it bothers him.

“Yeah, yeah. Sure you will,” Dave laughs and his engine roars as he revs it. “By the way, Mr. Perfect, your shirt’s inside out.” 

That’s the last thing he hears before Rossi floors it and the wind whipping their faces and rushing past their ears blocks out the ambient sounds of life as they race down the street at near 60 mph.

Some morning. 

xxx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this story is becoming more and more Hotch centric but i can’t help it. he’s my favorite. anyway let me know if you enjoyed this chapter! thanks everyone for your kind reviews and thank you so so much for reading!


	4. but i’m bound to carry on

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: aspects of this work bear similarities to the separate publication “Patron Saint of Lost Causes”. the author of this work attributes the content in this chapter to the correct source (@themetaphorgirl). Publication of this work is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not replace the intellectual property of the above source. This work is intended for personal, non-commercial use only and the author attributes subsequently reproduced or reconstructed concepts to the original source, all rights reserved.

“Mr. Hotchner, Mr. Rossi, you’re late.”

Hotch fights the urge to make a sarcastic comment about his English teacher’s astute observation and instead passes Mr. Gideon his neon green late pass as Rossi copies his actions. Rossi is used to being tardy and sometimes will purposefully sleep through his first or second periods, but Hotch isn’t. He’s got to be the most punctual kid at Madison Heights, save for his siblings who are always on time because he’s always on time. 

The two were able to drop off JJ a few minutes before her first bell and Rossi took some delight in all the middle school kids gawking at his ride, but the joy was short-lived when they hit some morning traffic on the way to their school and ended up arriving well past the start of class. To say Hotch was less than pleased was an understatement. Even the office secretary had made a comment on how this was “so unlike” him as he signed his name on the tardy sheet before grabbing his late pass. 

“Unless you intend to teach the class today, please take your seats.” Mr. Gideon commands, his joke falling flat in Hotch’s opinion. It’s not that he hates his English teacher, it’s just that it’s clear the man has never experienced empathy for another living person and seems to be about as emotionally vulnerable as a cactus. He’s an undeniably ruthless grader and Hotch finds this incredibly unfair considering that 11th grade English honors should not be the reason he doesn’t have an A average this year, like he has every other year of his life. Additionally, the middle-aged man has never accepted any kind of excuse on anything (even if it is legitimate) and if Hotch were to turn in his paper eight minutes after the bell on the day its due, he would be considered “late” and his cold-hearted English teacher would give him half marks. Not to mention the absolutely condescending manner in which Gideon taught like he just knew everything there was to know about Mary Shelley and Herman Melville. So yeah, it was safe to say that English wasn’t exactly his favorite class.

“What happened?” Emily mouths at him as he and Rossi sit down in the third row. He’s relieved to see his sister in class and his heart stops racing just a bit as he realizes that the rest of his siblings made it to school on time.

“Tell you later.” He hisses back, his voice barely above a whisper. But, of course, Gideon hears. Because considering the way Hotch’s morning is going why wouldn’t he hear?

“Mr. Hotchner, maybe you can divert the energy from this newfound burning desire to disrupt my class into your poetry skills,” Gideon reprimands sharply, and Hotch’s gaze settles into no less than an icy glare. He can’t remember ever loathing a teacher more. “Class, turn to “The Life and Death of Scyld” in Beowulf where Mr. Hotchner will begin by reading us the first 50 lines.” He lectures, eliciting groans from half the class. Hotch forgot they were supposed to start Beowulf today, a unit that every junior in the English class had been dreading since Gideon had explained the text to them. 

Hotch pulls the worn library book from his backpack and flips past the preface to the first page of the epic 3,182 line poem. He clears his throat and starts to read. 

“Lo, the spear-Danes glory through splendid achievement...” He begins with clear disinterest. It’s not that Hotch doesn’t like English, it’s actually always been one of his strongest subjects. He’s been praised by past teachers on his superb writing skills and his ability to analyze different works to find character motivations. But Gideon is a different breed of teacher. He’s definitely passionate, but his strict policies make it unbearable to be in his class. He presents interesting material that Hotch likes most of the time, but the man pushes their class so harshly that it’s almost impossible to enjoy any of the literary works he assigns. It’s no secret that the man is absolutely obsessed with decoding every line of Shakespeare or Miller or Hawthorne and picking it apart, word by word. Hotch doesn’t operate like that- which is primarily why he doesn’t see eye to eye with his teacher. While Gideon hyperfixates on the smallest details imaginable in the words of authors, Hotch sees them as mere pieces to the whole puzzle. It’s not that he doesn’t find some details interesting, but sometimes the constant insistence on nitpicking for symbols and motifs in the words of men long dead is a tiring existence. 

He’s on like 35 of his assigned 50 and has been stopped three times by their teacher to explain in detail what the author meant by a specific word or phrase and Hotch is just about to lose it when he hears Gideon’s aggravating throat clearing for the fourth time, indicating his need for Aaron to stop mid-sentence. At this rate, Hotch doesn’t see them finishing the poem until March. 

But Gideon doesn’t speak after clearing his throat, which causes Hotch to glance up from his tattered book to the front of the classroom where everyone’s eyes are trained. Next to Gideon stands their vice principal and behind her stands someone Hotch has never seen on campus before.

She also just so happens to be the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen.

Her natural blonde hair falls in loose beach waves, framing her delicate features. She stares kindly at Gideon, her lips forming a polite smile as she grasps a shoulder tote acting as a book bag. Hotch knows she’s just a new student, but there’s something so captivating about her as he watches her nod and smile gently as Gideon says something. However, he doesn’t hear the words. In fact, he doesn’t hear anything except the pounding of his heart in his chest. The rest of the classroom seems to fall back into a hazy blur as he watches the girl with the ethereal glow of an angel surrounding her wave a hand at Mrs. Strauss before the woman turns and departs their classroom. He sits, paralyzed not with fear, but with an emotion completely unidentifiable, as the girl adjusts her bag on her shoulder and strides over to one of the empty desks in the first row where nobody likes to sit for fear of being called on to answer a question. She’s isolated from the rest of them, like some kind of gorgeous statue in a museum, roped off from the public to preserve its natural beauty. She’s more than a statue though. To him, she’s the only person he ever want to see again. 

He doesn’t even realize he’s not breathing until something out of the corner of his eye reaches over and whacks him in the back of the head. 

A chorus of laughter explodes from the rest of his classmates and the blood previously rushing elsewhere in his body runs back to his cheeks and ears which quickly grow as red as a tomato. He rubs the back of his head from where Rossi has hit him and finally the sound of his world returns once more as he’s pulled from his trance.

“Since it seems that Mr. Hotchner is otherwise occupied by his daydreaming sessions, Mr. Rossi you may continue from line 35,” Gideon chides ruthlessly and Hotch’s blush deepens as he hears a few snickers from the fourth row. “After you describe Scyld’s connection to his clansmen in his final resting place and why they chose to bury him this way.” He finishes and Rossi visibly slumps in his seat. Hotch feels a pang of guilt for his friend who he knew was not paying close enough attention to the text to understand how to explain any of that. Hotch feels that familiar burning rage in his chest that he most closely associates with Greg and he has to remind himself to unclench his jaw and relax, tearing his gaze away from their teacher. 

’Don’t push it, Hotchner. Don’t say anything. He’s just another condescending asshole you have to ignore.’ he tells himself silently. That much is true; if there was ever a phrase to describe Jason Gideon, it wouldn’t be something he’d repeat around Spencer.

They manage to drudge through 20 more lines of Danish nonsense before the tinny three-beat bell signals the end of the period and Gideon shouts their homework at them above the clatter of 18 students hurriedly shoving pencils, books, and papers into their bags.

“Oh, and Aaron? Please stay back for a moment, if you don’t mind.” The man adds and Hotch nearly breaks a molar as he grits his teeth. Emily and Rossi, who flank his left and right, both break out into mischievous grins.

“Ooooh,” Emily jokes, poking him in the side. “Hotch is in troouuble.” She smirks. 

“Oh shut up,” he groans at his sister. He turns to Rossi, who bares an equally mocking grin. “Just save me a seat in study hall, will you?” He requests as his sister and his best friend head towards the classroom door without him. The new girl strides out of the room before them and he watches her blonde head disappear around the corner. He never even got her name. 

“I never will.” Dave jokes back, not even turning around. And then it’s just Gideon and Hotch in the room and his stomach does a nervous somersault when he realizes that this is the first time he could actually be in trouble with a teacher. Despite his hatred for Gideon, he’s never actually received a lecture of any kind and he suddenly feels extremely sick or like his knees will give out any second. Gideon seems to notice this and talks before Aaron can even open his mouth to ask what the problem is.

“It’s okay, take a seat.” The man offers, his tone void of its usual haughtiness, much to Hotch’s surprise. Although, he figures the order is just so it’s easier for his teacher to talk down to him, seeing as how Hotch is about the same height as the man. He slides into one of the front row desks anyway, drumming his fingers anxiously on the top of his right thigh.

“Um, what- what seems to be the problem?” He asks after a few agonizing seconds of silence. Gideon isn’t occupying himself with anything else, so it’s clear he’s waiting for Hotch to speak first. Aaron feels more or less like he’s about to be sentenced to death row.

“You tell me.” The man shrugs and it very well may be the most annoying shrug Hotch as ever seen in his life. 

“I-I’m not sure I understand.” He’s able to stammer out lamely, recognizing how out-of-character it is for him to be in this position. Hotch is usually the teacher’s pet, as opposed to Emily who seems to live for getting into trouble and starting arguments. He’s polite, attentive, and knows what he’s talking about when he answers questions. Not to mention his grades and his leadership abilities, it’s no secret that he’s a bit of a perfect student. He’s never envisioned himself in this position, not even with Gideon who aggravates him to his very core. 

“How are things going lately?” Gideon questions and Hotch’s brow furrows in confusion. Why the hell should he care? Hotch scans his face, searching for an ulterior motive in the pithy small talk.

“Things are fine.” Hotch lies. He’s quiet adept at reading body language (it comes with the job of being an older brother in many ways) but he can’t get an accurate read on Gideon. Then again, he knows the man is probably just as skilled.

He watches as his teacher sighs and turns on his heel to walk around to the back of his desk where his computer sits along with a stack of papers. Hotch figures it was work from another class until Gideon pulls a paper from the top of the stack and holds it out to him. 

“Your poem analysis and work sample I had you submit after our Adrienne Rich unit was exceptional, Aaron,” The man begins with a shockingly genuine tone. “Are you surprised to hear me say that?” He asks and Hotch realizes that he must have let his disbelief show on his face.

“Uh, a bit, sir.” He breathes a nervous laugh as he pushes a hand through his dark hair, brushing a few strands from falling in his eyes. 

“Please, stop with the ‘sir’, I’m not dead yet,” Gideon jokes and Hotch even finds himself smiling a bit at that one. “It was truly remarkable work, very astute observations on your analysis of Rich’s work and I especially enjoyed reading your own work Aaron. It’s very clear you have a natural talent for prose.” his teacher compliments, and Hotch gives a slight smile, but something just feels...off. Like the air seconds before the atomic bomb dropped from Enola Gay. Gideon would never compliment him like this out of nowhere, even if Hotch’s work really was the best in the class (which it had a tendency to be). Deep in the pit of his stomach, he knows what’s coming, but he doesn’t want to believe it.

“So, I was hoping you could explain to me how exactly you were able to pass that remarkable talent onto Mr. Rossi and Miss Prentiss, who seemed to have improved their writing skills almost exactly to your level in just one project.” Gideon remarks and Hotch gives an audible sigh, slumping down in his seat, only a little ashamed. He had told Emily and Dave the week prior that they could see his paper and use it as a reference and only as a reference. He knew he shouldn’t have trusted them. Shit.

“Sir- I mean, Mr. Gideon, I was only letting them-“ He tries to explain his reasoning but is cut off almost instantly with one of the sharpest and coldest looks he’s ever received from the man.

“Aaron, I don’t want to hear it,” He snaps, and Hotch can see the anger radiating off him in waves. Clearly not a good day to try and charm himself out of this one. “You are brilliant and you excel in this class and outside of this class, but you’re also extremely arrogant and still naive. You have a lot to learn, but you don’t act like you need to learn it,” The man lectures and Hotch tries to swallow but his throat has gone inexplicably dry. “I am well aware of your potential as a student and I hope to see you carry that outside of this building, but you cannot pick and choose the rules you want to abide by. That’s not how this works.” He continues and part of Hotch can’t believe he’s on the receiving end of this talk right now. If Dave was here he’d be laughing his ass off at the idea of Hotch not following a rule. Speaking of his sister and best friend who happened to land him in this situation in the first place, where the hell were they while he was getting his ear talked off by the teacher who hated him most? 

“All three of you will receive a failing grade on the plagiarized work. Additionally, you and your accomplices will all be serving an hour’s detention immediately following the final bell in different classrooms,” Gideon explains, seemingly reading his mind and Hotch shudders. He’s never failed anything in his entire life before, no less gotten a detention. “You can meet me in my classroom today after seventh hour.” He orders, and for a moment Hotch is too distracted by the awful notion of having to deal with Gideon for more than the first 55 minutes of his day to fully comprehend what the man has just said. Then it hits him.

“Mr. Gideon, I-I can’t, I’m sorry,” he blurts out, unable to stop the words tumbling from his lips before it’s too late. He really doesn’t want to get into an argument immediately following the lecture he just got but after school detentions don’t really work for him. “I have to work almost immediately after school tonight and most nights. It’s the same with Emily, sir. We both work tonight and we wouldn’t be able to give up our shifts on such short notice.” He explains, hoping for once in his life, the man who only seems to exist to make Hotch suffer will experience an ounce of human emotion and understand that he and his sister are truly unable to do much of anything after school. Sure, he’s got student government on Mondays and National Honors Society every other Wednesday and mock trial club during lunch period on Fridays, but he’s talked it over with his manager and only two of those directly conflict with him getting to work by 3:30 everyday after school so they don’t really affect his schedule all that much. Besides, he needs those clubs as part of the plan for his future full ride scholarship to Georgetown. Unlike detention with Gideon which he needs like a hole in the head.

There’s a terrifyingly long moment of silence where he really thinks that Gideon is going to essentially tell him to fuck off (in no uncertain terms) but the man sighs and rubs a hand across his face before he speaks again. 

“Are you available tomorrow and Monday during lunch period?” His teacher asks and even though tomorrow he has mock trial during his lunch, he nods, understanding that this may be the only lifeline he gets in an otherwise unsatisfactory situation. “Meet me here during lunch tomorrow and I’ll allow you to split your hour detention into two thirty minute periods.” he explains and Hotch audibly breathes a sigh of relief. He still hates Gideon, but he is slightly grateful for the ability to modify his punishment. 

“Thank you sir, honestly.” He gratifies, moving to stand from the desk he’s been sitting at as Gideon scrawls a late pass for his next period on a pad of paper. He grabs the pass and his book bag and is just about to head out the door when the man stops him.

“Aaron,” he calls and Hotch turns to face him. “You have a lot of potential, don’t waste it like this,” he admits almost begrudgingly. “But, if I ever catch you as an active participant in plagiarism again, I will not hesitate to talk to vice principal Strauss about suspension, which is much harder to ignore on an application to universities,” he threatens openly and Hotch’s shoulders sink. He nods his understanding. “See you at lunch, Mr. Hotchner.” He finally finishes and Hotch is allowed to leave the dreadful classroom.

As he starts his trek down to the library for study hall, he knows one thing for absolute certain: 

He hates Jason Gideon.

xxx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a more Hotch focused, single-setting, single-character chapter (something I’m not known for) but I needed a lot of words to write this scene and I had more ideas for this chapter but in order to keep it a healthy length I broke this chapter up into two so chapter five will contain more scenes focusing on different characters. Oh! And also if it wasn’t clear the new girl mentioned joining Hotch’s English class was Hayley lol. I tried to make that as clear as possible haha. I’ll probably post chapter five later tonight or tomorrow. anyway hope u guys enjoy! if u have any questions about characters/motivations/plot clarifications feel free to ask below or if u just liked the chapter u can let me know in a comment too! I love reading ur comments it literally makes me so happy :,) u all are so nice. thanks so much for reading!


	5. it’s easy to vanish when no one’s around

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: molestation (mentioned)
> 
> Disclaimer: aspects of this work bear similarities to the separate publication “Patron Saint of Lost Causes”. the author of this work attributes the content in this chapter to the correct source (@themetaphorgirl). Publication of this work is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not replace the intellectual property of the above source. This work is intended for personal, non-commercial use only and the author attributes subsequently reproduced or reconstructed concepts to the original source, all rights reserved.

“And then Rossi and I both get called into Strauss’ office and she’s totally trying to scare us about this whole thing but we’re trying not to laugh our asses off cause she’s doing that thing when her lips look exactly like a cat’s assho-“ 

She’s halfway through explaining the story of why she’s received yet another lunch detention (her fourth one this year, which must be a new record for her) to her best friend Elle Greenaway as they work the front registers in the tiny local antique shop when a customer rolls up, some dusty old lamp in hand.

“How much for this?” The elderly man asks and Emily has to fight every instinct in her body not to roll her eyes. The price tag is in clear sight of anyone with eyes, she knows he’s only bringing it to her so he can try and haggle her down to save a few bucks. But, the employees of Mission Galleria Antique Shoppe have strict instructions not to bargain with the customers- sorry, *guests*, about prices.

However, that doesn’t mean she can’t bend the rules a little.

“Oh, let me see,” she begins, part of her regular routine whenever she’s approached and asked about an item’s price. “Wait, there’s no way this is right. Elle, Come look at this!” She gasps, feigning shock. She quickly rips the paper tag off of the lampshade and passes it to her best friend who stands over her shoulder, gazing at the lamp. “Is that the actual price we’re selling this at?” She asks, raising an eyebrow. Elle isn’t as good an actor as she is, but they always like to put on a show if they have the time.

“No way...” Elle mutters. Emily wishes she would put a little more meaning behind her words, but her choice of scene partner isn’t really up to her anyway. “That new girl totally screwed this up again.” She sighs, crumpling the paper tag and dramatically throwing it into the waste bin behind their desk. Also, for the record, there’s never any new girl. There’s four employees in the store total and that’s just her, Elle, the owner, and the owner’s son who works whenever she or Elle can’t due to school.

“What? What happened?” The old man asks, obviously intrigued at the price of a lamp that, at least to Emily, looks a little trashy. She loves antiques, but most of the stuff in the store can’t really be considered that. It’s more like an items-found-in-dead-people’s-homes kind of store. In fact, she’d be genuinely shocked if she discovered that the clothes they sell weren’t actually taken off of dead people’s bodies.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” she turns to him, laying it on as thick as possible. “But this item was tagged incorrectly. It was priced at twenty-five, but it’s supposed to be $40,” she admits. It’s a changing game, but she has to adapt it to each situation. The net profit she’s going to make isn’t a lot, but she figures the lamp won’t believably go for much more anyway. 

“$40?” The man asks incredulously, playing right into her game. “Are you absolutely sure?” He questions, leaning forward to inspect the lamp. Emily quickly pulls it back more towards her and Elle.

“Yes, sir. I know for sure because the plating on the lamp shade here is a platinum aggregate,” she explains, the words leaving her mouth as soon as they pop into her mind. She silently thanks one of Spencer’s fun facts that she tuned into last week for teaching her what an aggregate is. “It’s a low concentration, but definitely pure platinum, the woman who donated it even had a stamp of approval from a local appraiser.” She lies easily, surprising even herself. The man’s eyes widen and he reaches out to touch the lamp again. 

“I don’t know about forty dollars...” he sighs, eyeing the lamp curiously. “Can you do thirty-five instead?” He questions. This part is tricky, but Emily is skilled at handling tricky situations. First, she bites her lower lip and furrows her brow, faking a look of intense concentration. Then, she places a single hand on the item in question and gives the customer a wary look. Finally, she turns to Elle and raises her eyebrow for two to three second. Elle nods hesitantly and Emily turns back to the customer smiling.

They have it down to a science at this point.

“I think thirty-five will work,” She smiles, turning to her register. “Will that be cash or card?” She asks pleasantly. Five minutes later they’re down one lamp and up ten dollars in profit for their shared tip jar which consists of discarded change and whatever money they can make off of poor suckers who try to haggle with them. They split the tips at the end of each shift and although it’s never much, it’s good to have something extra sometimes.

She finishes her detention story and her and Elle begin the closing routine as the sun begins to set behind their store. Luckily, the 77 bus line runs from the Mission Galleria right near her neighborhood and from there’s it’s merely a ten minute walk to her house. Elle has a car and although she’s offered to drive Emily home several times before, Emily can’t exactly bring herself to accept it. She loves Elle and they’ve been friends since freshman year, but she doesn’t do handouts, no matter who from. She can handle herself. 

“Are you going to Madison’s party tomorrow?” Elle asks absentmindedly. Her short brown hair and bangs fall into her eyes as she sweeps and Emily feels a small pang of jealously. Elle has always been effortlessly pretty. When Emily looks in the mirror all she sees is a bland, pale face staring back. That’s why Elle gets invited to parties and Emily doesn’t. 

“Wasn’t invited. Besides, didn’t you just call her a bitch like last week?” Emily scoffs, spraying the front window with glass cleaner and wiping it down with a damp rag. She never understands the petty drama her friend always seems to be involved in.

“Yeah, but a party’s a party. Anyway, fuck her! You’re coming as my plus one,” Elle announces and Emily opens her mouth to protest but her friend shuts her down before she can squeeze in a single syllable. “No, you’re coming. Tomorrow’s Friday and I know for a fact you have nothing better to do and you don’t even need to study for Ramirez’s test or anything cause you always swing an A no matter what.” She teases and Emily stifles a groan, although she’s technically correct.

“Elle, I-“

“Mick Rawson’s gonna be there.” The other girl adds in a sing-song tone and Emily suddenly stops mid-spray. Elle gives a knowing laugh from behind her.

“Mick Rawson?” She asks tentatively, turning around from the front window to face her friend, ignoring the other girl’s smirk.

“Yes, Em, the only British foreign exchange student in the entire school. He’ll be there tomorrow.” Elle confirms and Emily feels her stomach flip with anticipation. Jesus, what has gotten into her?

“He’s Welsh,” she correct absentmindedly and Elle snorts with laughter. “Fine, I’ll go. When is it?” She finally relents with a sigh and Elle’s smile grows.

“Tomorrow night. Come to mine after school and we’ll get ready together and I’ll do your makeup.” She offers, sweeping her small pile of dust into the dustpan before tossing it in the bin. It takes Emily a second to realize, but then it hits her. Tomorrow is JJ’s first game of the season. The younger girl has been talking about it nonstop for weeks now ever since her coach finally made her a starting player on the girl’s soccer team. Her stomach churns with guilt as she nods to Elle’s plan. She doesn’t want to hurt her sister’s feelings, but doesn’t she deserve a night off from being the responsible big sister type? 

“Sounds great.” Emily admits, swallowing hard and turning back to her window so Elle doesn’t see the reluctance written all over her face. 

She had a feeling she was going to regret this one.

xxx

Bodies crumpling. 

Helmets crashing into each other. 

The sweat pouring from his forehead into his eyes. 

His feet pounding the field’s turf through his cleats. 

The firm smack of the ball in his hands as he catches it. 

The feeling of his lungs about to pop out of his chest as he runs to the end zone. 

He loves football. He loves being on the field and training and being a part of a real cohesive unit like Madison Heights’ football team. He can’t describe the feeling of scoring a winning touchdown any better than pure, unadulterated joy. It’s his favorite experience in the entire world, and he feels as if he’s living every kid’s dream.

Especially, his childhood dream.

His father was the star quarterback on his high school football’s team back in Chicago. His old man would take him out past the chain link fence that guarded a wide, untrimmed field smack dab in the center of their neighborhood. It would just be him and his father, the way he liked it. His dad would run through plays with him or just throw the ball and give Derek tips on how to improve while he was running to catch it. Then, after several missed throws Derek would feel that familiar smack of the leather football in his grasp and everything just felt so right. His father would cheer something along the lines of “Star player of the Chicago Bears, Derek Morgan has scored a touchdown and the Bears win the Superbowl!” Before grabbing Derek and hugging him so tightly he was sure his bones would break. Even if it was December or January and it was so cold that Derek was convinced his nose would break off, when his father hugged him everything felt right and there was a warmth that spread through his body that could defend against the cold forever.

Now, that warmth is gone. It left when his father died, and he’s barely felt it since.

There’s been moments, sure. Like when he first met Hotch and the older boy insisted that he would protect him no matter what happened right before calling him his brother. Derek had never had a brother before. He had two sisters, but they were also taken by the state. Now he didn’t know where they were or even if they would ever find him. He didn’t blame them; after what he did, he wouldn’t want to find him either. 

He had been told multiple times by everyone in his life that his father’s death was by no means his fault. That he couldn’t have done anything to save the man, but he knows at his core that they were lying. If he hadn’t been there that night, his father would still be alive, simple as that. 

So the warmth never returned. Not even when he became a sophomore and found out he made the varsity football team. He had just about shouted his head off when he saw the roster back in early August after summer tryouts. Following a whole summer of weight training after his massive year-long growth spurt from a sad 5’3” freshman to a respectable 5’9” sophomore, he was glad to see that all his hard work had payed off. 

That was, until he met Carl Buford.

Buford was hired to replace Coach Moore after the previous football coach had retired following 30 long years of teaching. The whole school was all abuzz with the word of the new coach and where he came from. When Derek had first met the man at tryouts, he shook his hand firmly and stared right at him as he introduced himself.

He should’ve known then. He should’ve seen the way his handshake lasted only a bit longer than the other guys or how wide the coach’s smile grew when they met. He should’ve known by the way Coach Buford had called his name out specifically and clapped him on the shoulder when he scored a touchdown or made a particularly impressive pass. He should’ve known before he got himself into this mess. 

“I should’ve known better, I should’ve known better, I should’ve known better.”

He can’t stop saying those words as he sits on the cold linoleum tile of the locker room floor. The hot spray of the shower is scalding against his skin but he needs to scrub away what just happened. He needs the memory of his touch burned off. His stomach churns and he leans closer to the shower drain as he vomits up everything he ate for lunch that day. He’s utterly disgusted with himself in all aspects.

He wraps his shaking arms around his body, unable to calm himself down. He’s sitting alone in the deserted locker room again, far too long after practice to explain reasonably. At least he’s alone for good now. He knows that he can use this time to calm himself down before he has to face anyone or himself in the mirror. He thinks of Hotch’s disappointed face and it takes everything in his power to stop himself from crying at the thought of his older brother seeing him break down last night when Emily just casually threw around Buford’s name like it was nothing. He guessed to her, it really didn’t mean anything. 

‘It’s because you’re too much of a coward to tell them.’ An accusatory voice in his mind reminds him and he shakes his head. No, no that’s not true. He can’t say anything. If he could he wouldn’t be sitting here alone in an abandoned locker room trying not to cry his eyes out. If he tells anybody, Buford gets fired. The school can’t hire a replacement coach until next year and his season gets cancelled. Then he’s part of a major case against Buford and his name is splashed all across the media. Nobody wants to work with him after that and he doesn’t get to play football for the rest of high school. Then, because he doesn’t have football he doesn’t get an athletic scholarship and he’s nowhere. He needs that scholarship to get to college and to get the hell out of Lake Ridge. He needs to make his father and Hotch proud no matter what. He needs to do this.

So when it first happens, he cries for almost four hours alone in his room while Hotch is at work and Spencer’s at one of his many extracurricular pursuits. He sobs like the only other time he’s ever felt that kind of pain which is the night he witnessed his father’s death. After he calms himself down and realized the magnitude of his situation, he decides what must be done. He can take it. He can man up and suffer a bit so he can continue playing football and get that scholarship and never look back. It’s a situation he’s never wanted to be in before, but he realizes what must be done.

Sacrifices must be made. That’s what he tells himself as he turns off the burning water and quickly towels himself dry. 

He just didn’t know why it had to be him.

xxx

“I just can’t believe you sometimes!” 

Those were the last words Hotch shouted at him five minutes and 22 seconds ago. He’s been glowering by the salsa bar ever since, pretending to sanitize the fixture while Rossi preps the takeout orders for the small restaurant. The only manager on duty tonight is Travis who is undeniably in the back smoking weed with the cook so Hotch and Rossi man the front of the small restaurant and pretend to keep busy until a customer walks in. 

“Still mad at me?” Rossi questions, unable to keep the smile off his face. If he knows anyone, he knows his best friend. And if he knows his best friend, he knows Aaron is impossibly easy to piss off. However, he’s also impossibly easy to un-piss off because the guy doesn’t know how to hold a grudge against Rossi to save his life. 

“Yes,” Hotch shoots back instantly, wiping down the glass screen over the various salsas. “You’re the reason I’m spending my next two lunch periods with a literal demon from hell.” He mutters and Rossi scoffs. In his eyes, Hotch got off relatively easy. Two lunch periods with Gideon is nothing compared to a Saturday morning with Strauss. When he expresses this to his best friend, he notices the other boy’s fixed countenance begin to soften a bit.

“Anyway, you’re only mad because I’m making you miss mock trial with your little nerd club,” He teases, sticking his tongue out. He’s entirely unprepared when a small glob of salsa hits him square in the chest, staining his newly pressed and ironed white button down. “Come on, man!” He groans, staring down at the dripping salsa. It’s unavoidable and he can’t hide it with the stupid aprons Costa Azul makes them wear either. He glances up from the sad state of his work shirt to meet Hotch’s eyes and sees that familiar, barely-there smile crossing his best friend’s face.

“Now we’re even,” Aaron announces proudly, walking away from the salsa bar. He throws Dave his wet rag who immediately begins to dab the dark red circle on his shirt. “As long as you learned your lesson.” His friend concludes and Dave shoots him a grin.

“Of course I did,” Dave sighs. He glances up once more. “Oh, by the way, Clemont’s history paper is due next Thursday. Do you think I could take a peek at yours?” He jokes and he swears that if he and Aaron weren’t at work right now, he’d be getting socked harder than usual in the arm. Of course, they are at work and Hotch’s comeback is interrupted when the bell attached to the front door rings, signaling the presence of a customer. Their first one in two long hours.

“Welcome to Costa Azul,” Hotch begins, launching into the regular spiel as he dives behind the counter where they’re supposed to be standing when a customer enters. Rossi quickly follows suit but a single glance at who just walked in the door tells him that he’s about to take over. “What can we get you started with today?” He asks as the two walk-ins approach the register where Hotch stands. Finally he glances up from the cash register and Rossi has to work hard to contain his unmitigated joy when he watches Hotch’s face fall. He recognizes her instantly as the blonde girl from their first period this morning, but she’s also flanked by Alexa Lisbon, one of the most popular and prettiest girls in the entire school. This may as well be Aaron’s worst nightmare, but for some reason Dave can’t stop himself from laughing. 

Call it payback for the salsa.

“Yeah, hi, I think we’re gonna just do two street tacos with ground beef.” The blonde starts, speaking for both her and Alexa. Hotch merely gapes, not moving at all and Rossi honestly feels a pang of guilt in his chest for his best friend. He’s never seen the boy act this way in his entire life. In fact, Dave wonders if he’s ever even looked at a girl before this morning.

“Um, hello?” Alexa clears her throat as Hotch can only stare, his eyebrows raised so high that they disappear into his hairline. 

“Aaron, take your break, man,” Rossi hisses under his breath, unable to watch this train wreck of a situation unfold any more. He elbows his best friend out of the way and the other boy finally unfreezes before disappearing into the back. Dave offers up a nervous laugh to the girls. “Sorry about him, he has uh, strep throat. I think. Anyway! Two street tacos?” He asks and beams with pride as the girls giggle slightly. 

He rings them up and hands them medium sized drink cups for the soda fountain. He’s just about to head back to check on Hotch so that he can help make the order when the blonde stops him. 

“Is that your friend? The one with strep throat?” She asks with a slight giggle and Rossi’s mouth turns into a half-smirk.

“That would be the one and only Aaron Hotchner. IQ 187, although he doesn’t look it.” Rossi lies easily, pulling the number from what he knows to be Spencer’s actual intelligence quotient.

“Well, he looks pretty cute to me.” The blonde laughs and Rossi’s smirk spreads into a genuine smile. He’s beginning to see the appeal to this girl.

“Bold, I like it,” He admits, nodding his head and the two girls laugh again. “Can I ask for your name? For the order of course.” He inserts smoothly.

“Haley. Haley Brooks.” The blonde tells him and he nods. Haley and Hotch. Huh, it worked well.

“Alright, Haley Brooks. Your food will be right out.” He grins before turning on his heel and heading into the kitchen to find his best friend.

All he knows is that after this, Hotch owes him. Big time.

xxx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so here’s the rest of chapter four which is technically chapter five because it was too much to be just one chapter. i really like adding in some of the show’s minor or past or mentioned characters in here so comment if u wanna see anyone in particular in this story and ill try to fit it in! as always, let me know if you like the chapter and if u wanna see more. thanks for reading! (also sorry if u think im updating too much. i write VERY very fast. like as soon as i can get the ideas out of my head so they don’t go away. i also have work and summer homework too so i don’t have as much time to write as i want so i have to take each opportunity i get to write and edit and publish a chapter so that’s why i update so fast haha)


	6. i won’t fight their fight (but you bet that i’m gonna fight mine)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: aspects of this work bear similarities to the separate publication “Patron Saint of Lost Causes”. the author of this work attributes the content in this chapter to the correct source (@themetaphorgirl). Publication of this work is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not replace the intellectual property of the above source. This work is intended for personal, non-commercial use only and the author attributes subsequently reproduced or reconstructed concepts to the original source, all rights reserved.

There were very few places Hotch wanted to spend his Friday lunch period at. At the very top of that list was Jason Gideon’s classroom for one of two thirty minute detentions.

But, he had to admit it was only a slight improvement from getting suspended and having a black mark on his school records that would directly impact his college admission opportunities, so he tried to contort his face into less of a scowl as he rapped three times on the closed door of the English classroom. 

“Come in.” The bored drawl of Gideon’s voice sounds through the thick wood of the door and Hotch turns the knob before slipping into the perpetually freezing room. His teacher sits behind his desk, glasses slipping down his nose as he types rapidly on his desktop. 

To be honest, Aaron had no clue what a detention entailed. Of course he had heard the multiple stories from Emily over the last two years, but his sister had a propensity for trouble. Her teachers usually would tell her to sit down quietly for an hour or so in what Emily described as a “mundane form of school-sanctioned torture” so she would be deterred from ever causing mischief ever again. Of course, the next week she would end up in some sort of predicament and find herself back in detention. So, Hotch was under the impression that he would just be told to sit quietly for thirty minutes before being permitted to head to his fifth hour. The cycle would repeat on Monday and then he would be free of seeing Gideon for any additional time apart from his first period English class. 

“You can set your bag down, you won’t need it,” Gideon explains and Hotch abides as he drops his backpack to the floor below him. He was just about to slide into the front row seat where he had sat the day prior when Gideon lectured him about the unfortunate plagiarism situation, but was interrupted when the man surprisingly spoke again. “We’ll start today with the corner bookcases. It’s a simple task so I don’t expect to see any mistakes.” He starts and Hotch’s brow furrows in confusion. 

“I- uh, what do you mean?” He asks, seeking clarification on the cryptic introduction. “I thought detention was just...sitting here.” He scoffs, trying to bring some humor into the situation. Of course, Gideon has never been one for humor. 

“My detentions tend to follow a different pattern, one suited more to enforce the dread of manual labor into a student’s life,” Gideon elaborates and Hotch honestly can’t tell if the man is being serious. “You’ll start today by taking all the books from the shelves and wiping them down. Then you’ll have to reorganize the books of course in alphabetical order. I don’t think I can boil it down any further than that, Mr. Hotchner.” He drones and Hotch fights the urge to roll his eyes at the last biting comment. He wants nothing more than to tell the teacher off for his continue condescending manner, but refrains, knowing that he’s already in enough trouble as is. He merely sighs as Gideon points him towards the paper towels and multi-surface cleaner he keeps under one of his cabinets and heads over towards the shelving units. 

Jesus. He’s never realized how many books his English teacher has.

The nearly seven-foot-tall shelves look like something out of Spencer’s dream decor and he’s sure there’s at least over 200 books on the first unit alone. He has no idea how he’s supposed to get through all of this in one thirty minute period, but he figures it’s better than sitting across from Gideon in agonizing silence. In fact, Hotch isn’t even that averse to the task. If it were assigned to him by Miss Williams, his tenth grade English teacher, he probably would have stayed back from lunch for a week to help her sort her books. He liked when everything was in its place and he liked organizing, it was merely who he was organizing for that he detested. 

He began to pull stacks of books from the shelves that looked like they had never been touched by any student for as long as Gideon had been a teacher at Madison Heights. Judging by the insane amount of dust that the shelves had collected as well, Hotch knew that his suspicions were correct. For about ten minutes, he worked in silence pulling all of the volumes from the bookcase and placing them on nearby desks in neat stacks. He had gotten to the bottom shelf when one of the books caught his eye specifically and he picked it up separately. The book’s binding was decorated with ornate red and gold stitches that formed a captivating pattern that matched the book’s hard cover. In gold cursive read “Shakespeare’s Sonnets. The Complete Illustrated Poems” and he traced his fingers along the loops of the words. The spine was uncracked and Hotch was shocked that Gideon had seemingly never opened such a gorgeous book before. 

As quietly as possible, Hotch flipped through the book’s contents, gazing over the sonnets inside. He searched for a particular one, the one his mother used to read when he was little. He didn’t know which number it was but he would know the poem when he saw it. He had learned it by heart after so many years and he was unsure he could ever erase the memory of his mother’s soothing voice as she repeated the lines she had uttered so many times before. 

“Find anything interesting?” A voice from behind asks suddenly and Hotch is so startled that his hands seize up and he drops the gorgeous book to the ground. It lands with a thud, a thick cloud of dust dissipating around it.

“Sorry, I uh, I was just-“ he begins to stammer out and apology, bending down to grab the hardcover volume before setting it on the desk atop one of the other stacks he’s created. Gideon cuts him off before he can continue.

“Don’t apologize for being curious. What did you find?” Gideon dismisses and Hotch genuinely doesn’t expect his slightly kind tone. He holds up the beautifully woven cover the book and Gideon adjusts his glasses to see from far away. Eventually, he just stands and makes his way over the desks where Aaron has set up his fortress of dust-ridden books. “Ah, can’t go wrong with Shakespeare. Do you have a favorite?” The man asks, seemingly invested and Hotch is more than a little surprised. For once in the nearly three months he’s known him, Gideon isn’t acting like the world’s biggest jerk. 

So, Hotch compliantly cracks the book once more and begins skimming the pages. Finally, he lands on the correct page and reads the title. 

“Sonnet 116.” He provides and his confusion grows as Gideon’s lips turn into a small smile. An actual, genuine smile. Something Hotch would have never expected to see after something he said.

“My wife loved that one especially. She read it as part of our wedding vows.” Gideon explains softly and Hotch picks up on the past-tense he uses and doesn’t question anything further. Although, he is quite shocked to learn that Gideon could have actually once been emotionally available enough to marry another person. It doesn’t seem to fit the narrative of crabby, middle-aged, heartless English teacher vibe he has going on.

When Hotch speaks again, he doesn’t understand why he says what he does, but the words merely flow freely. It’s almost as if the walls he has built up carefully in the presence of anyone apart from his siblings or Dave slowly become weaker and weaker.

“My mother used to read it to me when I told her I couldn’t sleep. Most of the time I hadn’t even tried to go to sleep, I just wanted to hear her read it again,” he chuckles softly, feeling as old as Gideon as he looks back fondly on the memory. “I don’t know why but I could have heard her read it over and over again for the rest of my life and not gotten tired of it.” He admits sheepishly. That’s something he’s never even admitted to his siblings, so when he realizes what he’s saying he feels himself growing as red as he did yesterday when everyone in the class realized he was standing at the new girl, Haley.

Gideon, however, doesn’t laugh. His smile remains intact as he pushes his wire frames closer to his face and contemplates for a second. “Why don’t you hang on to that one for a while? Right after Beowulf we’ll be discussing the themes of 16th century poetry. Maybe you can use it as a reference for your next paper.” He offers and Hotch has to physically stop his jaw from dropping. He’s just completely flabbergasted that Jason Gideon who glares at him and constantly refutes his points with an annoying amount of egotistical arguments has offered to let him borrow something without even a hint of malice in his tone. If he hadn’t witnessed Penelope once trying to use a school laptop to hack into Emily’s gradebook to change one of her B’s to an A, he’d say that this is the most shocking thing to happen to him. 

“I- that’s okay. My little brother probably has this whole thing memorized anyway.” He jokes, but is pretty sure that Spencer knows all of Shakespeare’s works by heart. 

“Your little brother the football player or your little brother the 10-year-old genius?” Gideon jokes. Actually jokes. Like, he says something where his intentions are genuinely humorous. Hotch doesn’t believe his brain processing the situation. It must be some kind of intense fever-dream.

“Take a guess.” He shoots back with ease, for once able to let his guard down. Gideon chuckles softly and bends down to help Hotch remove the rest of the books from the bookshelf. 

“Really, hold onto it. As you can tell, nobody else is trying to borrow any books lately.” Gideon points out and Hotch shrugs, downplaying his gratitude with a mere “thanks.” He really does love the way the book feels in his hands and he thinks Spencer will get a real kick out of it too. 

The rest of the period passes as they begin wiping down the surface of the bookcase together, Hotch listening intently as Gideon explains some of his favorite books and Hotch chipping in with a few bits of information on the ones he’s read. He doesn’t even realize the bell has rung until he hears the familiar clamoring of students rushing to get to class outside the door. The task isn’t even halfway done, but Gideon tells him to pack up and that he’ll see him on Monday morning for class, and for another detention.

As Hotch gently places the beautiful crafted poetry volume in his worn backpack next to his various binders and notebooks and gives a hurried goodbye to his teacher, he can’t seem to wipe the grin off of his face until he manages to make it to his next class.

For once in his life, Aaron is glad to admit that he might have been wrong at first.

xxx

There are times where being 4’9 probably comes in handy, Spencer figures. 

High school is not one of those times.

He’s struggling to get out of the school’s front doors, getting jostled back and forth between sophomores and juniors who are twice his size and are just as eager to be let out of the building on a Friday afternoon. Usually, he doesn’t have to make the perilous journey everyday because his seventh hour is chemistry and he’ll stay behind with Mr. White to make sure the lab is clean or to ask questions about kinetic molecular theory, but today is different. Tonight is JJ’s first game of the year and it’s the one time their family is going to be together to watch her play. This year, both JJ and Derek are on their teams as starters so Hotch has drawn up a schedule consisting of their games of who’s going to go to which game for the rest of the season. Emily and Derek joke saying that he’s gone overboard, but Spencer respects his older brother’s organization and leadership skills. 

Anyway, tonight he’s put off his usual Friday endeavors (going to Robotics club) and he Penelope, Derek, and Emily are going to take the bus home to get ready for the game tonight. Penelope and Derek have promised to help him paint his face to match JJ’s middle school’s colors and they’ve even somehow managed to convince Hotch to rep face paint under the condition that it’s a small design. He’s almost buzzing with excitement when he spots Derek and Penelope standing outside the school and he manages to trip over one of his perpetually untied shoelaces when he runs to greet them.

“Slow down, kid. If you mess up that face of yours Hotch is gonna blame me.” Derek jokes, catching Spencer from falling face-first into the concrete. Spencer sticks out his tongue as he shifts his backpack, loaded down with the weight of this weekend’s library books and his homework. 

“Where’s Emily? We have to go soon.” Spencer chirps excitedly, looking around for the familiar sight of his dark-haired older sister. 

“Chill out, she probably just got caught up after class or something.” Derek shrugs and goes back to talking to Penelope about some freshman drama that doesn’t particularly interest Spencer. He wipes beads of sweat from his brow and curses himself silently for grabbing so many books during study hall when his back starts to ache from the weight of his bag. A few minutes pass and he eyes the bus they’re supposed to get on warily.

“The bus leaves in 42 seconds. If we don’t get on it’ll leave without us.” He mutters, squinting against the afternoon sun to search for his sister. The crowd is thinning from its usual mass, but still no trace of Emily. Derek and Penelope begin to look around too.

“I’ll go ask the driver if he can wait a minute or two.” Penelope shrugs, turning towards the bus and climbing up the steps. Spencer bites his lip nervously. He’s not a big fan of things not going to plan, especially when the plan isn’t exactly difficult to stick by. 

Penelope returns having earned them an extra two minutes and he watches some last-minute stragglers board the bus. He’s just about to propose that they should get on when he sees Emily jogging towards them, her black hair and attire a stark contrast against the sunny afternoon. 

However, she doesn’t follow as Spencer and Penelope start to make their way towards the bus. Instead, she pulls Derek aside and begins whispering to him in hushed tones. Her hands are animated with lively gesticulations as she speaks, but Derek’s face doesn’t match her energy. His older brother looks upset as he shakes his head and whispers something back. Emily doesn’t react well to this response and gives one more remark before she turns on a heel and begins to head back from the direction she came, towards the school’s student parking lot for upperclassmen. Spencer suddenly thinks of Emily’s friend Elle who’s house she’s spent the night at a few times and figures she’s just sick of the bus and wants to catch a ride with her friend instead. However, he knows that his line of thinking is merely naive and Derek’s suddenly sour expression tells him more than he needs to know.

“Where’s she going?” Penelope asks innocently as the three siblings clamber up the stairs of the bus. Being the last ones on, they’re stuck with the worst seats in the front, barely able to hear themselves think over the roar of the air conditioner or the driver’s radio. 

“She’s...” Derek begins, obviously at a loss for the right words. Something in his expression tells Spencer that he really wants to say something he’ll regret, but has to exhibit self restraint. “She’s got her own plans.” He merely offers. Spencer sinks back into the vinyl bus seat, tuning out Penelope’s next barrage of questions at the cryptic answer.

He hates when things don’t go according to plan.

xxx

“I-I’m not so sure about this.”

It’s not just the nerves about showing up to a house party in the suburbs with a bunch of popular kids in attendance that she’s not exactly on friendly terms with that’s making her stomach feel like she’s on the world’s fastest rollercoaster. She’s been steadily trying to ignore the massive guilt choking her like a straight jacket since she saw Derek’s reaction to her saying that she couldn’t make it to JJ’s game because she had help Elle study for Ramirez’s test. She knows her little brother sees through the lie instantaneously and his disappointed look and subsequent sigh are burned into her mind from hours ago. Not to mention the fact that four of her siblings are probably at JJ’s game right now, screaming her name from the stands and that her youngest sister is probably glancing up into the bleachers, confused as to why she’s not there. She swallows harshly, her throat gone dry as Elle drags her from the car and closer to the front door of the house.

In just a few short hours, her best friend has somehow managed to somehow turn Emily’s typical every-day look into something almost unrecognizable as her. Her eyelids are painted with what Elle calls a “smoky eye” and her eyeliner ends in a sharp wing that goes out a little further than she would ever paint it on. Additionally, she’s wearing one of Elle’s matte nude lipsticks and the other girl even let her borrow a charcoal gray crop top and some black jeans. Her long black hair has been straightened out and her bangs, which usually lie flat or stick to her forehead with sweat, are curled just slightly and bounce as she walks. Emily’s no stranger to makeup- usually she’ll just throw on some mascara, nude eyeshadow, a thin line of eyeliner, and a lip gloss every morning before school. But, while her products come from the discount section at CVS, Elle gets all her makeup products from Ulta or Sephora and Emily admires the high-quality stuff with only a splash of envy. 

She almost trips over one of the heels on her ankle boots (again, courtesy of Elle) as the girl pushes her towards the door.

“Don’t even. You’ll be fine and you look gorgeous.” Elle shuts her down quickly, rolling her eyes. Her best friend, as always, looks as though she’s stepped out of a high fashion magazine in her trendy clothes that Emily would never find at the thrift stores she shops at.

“Yeah, all thanks to you.” She points out, but her smile shows that she’s grateful and Elle knows it. Suddenly, the girl is knocking on the front door and Emily is wondering how anyone can even hear them over the music blaring from the house when the door swings open and Maddie Preston, the host of the party, greets them. 

“Elle! You made it!” She squeals in a pitch that Emily is sure is only discernible by canines. Her gaze flickers over to Emily and suddenly, she’s no longer shrieking. “Hey, Emily. Didn’t expect to see you...” she admits and Emily plasters on one of the fakest smiles she can muster. 

“Yeah, well, nobody ever does.” She grins sarcastically. Elle links her arm with Emily in a show of solidarity and Emily feels her chest swell at the motion, feeling eternally grateful for her best friend. Maddie steps aside to let them enter and Elle leads her into the house. 

The first floor looks like everything Emily would expect from a typical house party. There’s a beer pong table set up in the front room and a few of the kids in their grade and some seniors stand around playing, whooping and cheering every time someone makes a shot. There’s a sunken living room with some couches on which there’s multiple horny couples going at it and Emily has no trouble averting her eyes from the giant make out/groping session happening in plain sight. The kitchen counter is decorated with what looks like the entire alcohol section of a grocery store and in the kitchen there’s a few people standing around talking, vaping, or making drinks. Past the sliding glass doors that lead to the patio she can see the fluorescent lights of a massive pool and there seems to be a circle of people around a fire, passing around what Emily knows is a blunt. Throughout the entire house, somebody’s blasting music through a speaker that Emily doesn’t recognize beyond what Rossi, Hotch’s best friend, likes to listen to. She suddenly feels very out of her element and very exposed. Her arms drift to cover her bare midriff which is left open by the tight crop top, but Elle turns to face her.

She takes in her best friend’s soft brown eyes and the rest of the world seems to quiet down for a moment.

“Don’t be nervous, nobody cares that you’re here. Want me to make you a drink?” She asks and Emily gives a light smile and nods silently. She follows Elle into the kitchen. 

There’s about fifty or so people already present and Emily can name about half of them. She figures the ones she doesn’t recognize come from different public schools around Lake Ridge or the older looking ones go to college nearby. It’s all extremely intimidating and usually, Emily doesn’t get nervous. She knows she doesn’t give a shit about what other people think about her, but being in such a new environment is foreign to her and she hasn’t decided if she likes it yet or not. 

“What do you want?” Elle questions and Emily realizes that for once, she doesn’t have an answer. 

“Um, I’m not sure. Whatever you’re having, I guess.” She shrugs, watching as Elle unscrews a bottle of an auburn tinted liquid with a label that reads Jack Daniels. Emily tries her best not to think of her alcoholic foster parent as she watches her best friend pour the liquid into two red plastic cups. She then grabs one of the several two-liters of Coca Cola next to the array of different bottles lining the counter and fills the cups the rest of the way up with the soda. She adds a few ice cubes into each before passing Emily one of the cups.

“Cheers!” Elle grins brightly and taps her cup’s rim against Emily’s and before she can even think about what she’s doing, she tips her head back and drinks the strong-smelling dark mixture inside of her glass.

That could definitely be classified as her first mistake of the evening.

xxx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha another cliffhanger. we love 2 see it. hope u enjoyed this chapter, emily’s story of the party will continue in chapter 7! thanks so much for reading and if u liked what u read (or if u have any questions) leave a comment down below! thanks!


	7. falling slowly, eyes that know me (and we can’t go back)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this chapter is ENTIRELY made possible by @irwhiny who gave me the amazing idea for this entire chapter. not to mention the fact that their comments are the nicest things I’ve ever read. so than you for the inspiration for writing this chapter! that being said, if anyone wants to see something specific in this story, feel free to comment below and i will most likely try to work it into the story. i have a very loose skeleton of a plot right now so i would appreciate any input you guys have! so enjoy the chapter, and if u have any suggestions/questions feel free to comment down below!
> 
> Disclaimer: aspects of this work bear similarities to the separate publication “Patron Saint of Lost Causes”. the author of this work attributes the content in this chapter to the correct source (@themetaphorgirl). Publication of this work is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not replace the intellectual property of the above source. This work is intended for personal, non-commercial use only and the author attributes subsequently reproduced or reconstructed concepts to the original source, all rights reserved.

Three drinks in and she’s so far gone she’s shocked that she’s even able to keep standing,

She’s 100% what Elle calls a “lightweight” and it’s kind of a blessing because Emily isn’t really a fan of the taste of the alcohol she’s been drinking steadily since they arrived. The first one, Elle’s jack and coke, was difficult to choke back and ignore the stinging aftertaste of the Jack Daniels so she dilutes it with more Coca Cola and ice. Then, after she finishes that, Elle makes her some kind of vodka-sprite mixed drink and she has to pretend like the clear vodka doesn’t taste like rubbing alcohol or nail polish remover as she chugs it down. At that point, she’s pretty messed up, which is why she agrees when two boys in their grade invite them to join the next game of beer pong. Her and one of the boys whose name she can’t remember play on one team while Elle and the other boy play on the other. She ends up having to throw back three or four cups during the game, but eventually loses count. She also hates the taste of beer, but at her current state of intoxication, it’s easier to choke it down and ignore the weird aftertaste.

“You don’t look so good. Wanna sit down?” The boy in her grade offers, wrapping a sweaty arm around Emily’s shoulders. She shrugs off the boy’s arm and deters him from leading her towards the couch where couples are still sucking each other’s faces like it’s the end of the world.

“We should do shots!” Somebody nearby cheers as Emily stumbles towards her best friend and Elle giggles at the sight. 

“Wanna do a shot?” Elle questions, raising a perfect-looking eyebrow. Emily feels like the room is spinning around her, but she’s not totally averse to the sensation. It’s almost like when she would run around in a circle really fast on the playground when she was a kid and fall down in the grass and watch the sky whirl around in brilliant blues and whites until she’d get back up to repeat the process. She ditches the boy she played the round of beer pong with and heads more towards Elle’s side.

“Sure, as long as you do one.” She grins, linking their arms again. They follow a small group out to the back patio. The pool is empty save for a couple that sits on the steps with their feet dangling in the cool water, but the backyard is filled with teenagers and the unfamiliar scent of weed filters over towards them from the group sitting by the fire. She squints against the bright orange flames of the fire pit, trying to make out who exactly is sitting there, but Elle pulls her closer to where a few girls who look like the ones who cheer stupid phrases at Derek’s games are pouring alcohol into tiny shot glasses. Elle passes her one of the glasses once more and she shuts her eyes and tries to block out the taste as she downs all of the clear liquid in her cup. Not a second later, she feels Elle passing her a bottle filled with what looks like lemonade, but clearly isn’t. 

“It’s a chaser,” the other girl shouts over the blaring music. “It’ll make the taste go away.” She explains and Emily quickly sips from the glass bottle of alcoholic lemonade to drown out the burning sensation of her shot. A few girls around them giggle, but she blocks it out. 

“Have you ever gotten drunk before?” A voice that is decidedly not Elle’s asks and Emily glances up as she sets the spiked lemonade down on the patio table in front of them. Even though everything seems slightly blurry at the moment, she’s able to recognize the face as Alexa Lisbon, head cheerleader. Her makeup is heavier than Emily’s ever seen it before and she’s surrounded by the rest of what seems to be Madison Heights’ cheer squad. Additionally, Emily is somehow also able to recognize the face of the new girl standing directly to Alexa’s right. 

“Shhh,” she dismisses Alexa rapidly before focusing her attention on the shorter blonde she recognizes from her English class. Elle almost screams with laughter at that. “You’re that new girl, right? The one in English yesterday?” She blurts out, not really aware of what she’s saying until she hears herself speak. Does she actually sound like that when she’s drunk? Jesus. She takes another drink from her alcoholic lemonade and the blonde smiles kindly. 

“Yeah, I’m Haley.” The girl introduces, clearly not as far gone as Emily. 

“Listen, my brother-“ she starts to speak but is interrupted by her own laughter and soon she realizes that she actually snorts as she tries to get the words out. It feels like she can’t breathe through her giggles, but she pushes through nonetheless. “My brother got the biggest boner for you yesterday in class. I’ve never seen him act that way before.” She almost collapses from her own laughter, but Elle grabs her arm to hold her upright. She doesn’t even care about the judgmental stares she’s receiving from Alexa Lisbon and her pack of vicious cheerleaders, she’s having way too much fun to be self-conscious anymore. 

“Um, thanks? I guess?” She laughs, obviously more out of politeness than actual humor. 

“You should call him!” She calls as Elle begins to lead her away from the group. “His name is Aaron Hotchner! That’s H-O-T-C-“ but Elle cuts her off with a barrage of laughter before she can even finish. They’re only about ten yards out of earshot from the group but they’re acting like they’re the only ones in the entire world and Emily loves this feeling more than anything.

“I-I can’t believe,” Elle begins through her laughter, stopping to catch her breath. “I can’t believe you just told that girl that Hotch wants to fuck her!” She gasps out before doubling back over, clutching her ribs like her chest might burst.

“I did not say that!” Emily asserts, her voice raising up to a higher pitch then she’s ever heard it before. “I said he had a crush on her, you pig!” She shrieks and flicks Elle’s bare shoulder in the process. They’re in the process of calming each other down from their laughing fit when Elle leans in closer to her and suddenly she can feel the other girl’s breath on her neck, and she likes the ticklish sensation. Her voice smells sweet from a mixture of the alcohol consumed and her cherry breath mints and Emily has to work to focus on the words she’s whispering instead of the way she smells.

“Speaking of crushes, look who’s coming over here.” She giggles and Emily’s eyes glance over to a tall figure walking towards them from the direction of the fire pit. She instantly recognizes the messy brown hair and sharp jawline as the same one she’s been staring at all month in her economics class and she feels her heart drop to the bottom of her chest. The boy heading towards the patio is none other than Mick Rawson, the Welsh foreign exchange student who looks like he could be some kind of H&M model, whose name is written all over three of her notebooks in messy cursive whenever she begins to daydream in class. 

To call it a crush is an understatement.

“You should say hi!” Elle hisses encouragingly and Emily suddenly feels all the blood drain from her face. Admiring from afar is one thing, actually speaking to him is another, and she’s not exactly at that level yet. In fact, she’s never been at that level with anyone. She wouldn’t even know how to maneuver the situation. 

She watches with bated breath as Mick heads straight for the sliding glass door and makes his way inside. From the window, Emily can see him en route to the kitchen and her breath hitches as Elle pushes her.

“Go!” Her best friend orders, gesturing towards the door and somehow her feet carry her towards the entrance back into the house. She isn’t even aware how she’s making herself do this until she realizes that it’s probably the courage from the alcohol she’s been downing all night. She spares a glance behind her as she walks indoors, but her best friend has other plans and she seems to be heading back towards the table of girls taking shots. Still, determined to try and follow Elle’s instructions, she glides towards the kitchen, her heart nearly pounding out of her chest as she approaches and sees Mick pouring some sort of drink for himself. 

*’Okay, just one cup. That’s a good sign, right? Yeah, because if he was here with a girl he’d be making her one too. Unless he doesn’t drink and this is for her. But if he smokes which I know he does cause I saw him by the fire pit then he probably drinks so it’s safe to assume that he-‘* her internal reverie is cut off when a voice pulls her from her tangential thinking.

“Want me to pour you one?”

The accent is unmistakeable and she glances up to meet his eyes. He’s even more attractive up close, she thinks, and she feels like she’s caught in some kind of gravitational pull as she stares into his eyes. 

*’Don’t just stand there, Em, say something!’* she chides herself silently.

“I- um, what?” She manages to blurt out and it takes all of her strength to not immediately walk away from the embarrassment of it all. Jesus Christ.

But, much to her surprise, Mick Rawson doesn’t judge her for her stupid answer to a very simple question. Instead, he chuckles softly and shows a row of gleaming white teeth as he pulls another plastic cup from the package and begins pouring whatever he’s making into the second cup. After a moment or so, she’s able to untie her tongue once more.

“I- sorry. I usually use more than one brain cell when I talk,” she jokes light-heartedly. Mick’s smile grows and she takes that as a good sign. “I’m Emily.” She introduces, pushing a lock of dark hair behind her left ear. The boy finishes mixing whatever he’s poured into a red cup and slides it towards her which she takes gratefully.

“I know,” he responds and her heart skips a beat. He knows? “We’re in like three classes together.” He clarifies and her face falters when she realizes she said that last thought out loud. But, Mick merely laughs and sips at his drink. Knowing that the drink will help her keep this brave face up, she takes a long swig of her drink. However, when she sets her cup down and swallows, she doesn’t like the way it tastes. It burns her throat as it goes down and it tastes like microwaved apple juice mixed with dog pee to her. It doesn’t go down half as easy as the jack and coke did earlier and she begins to choke as she swallows.

“Oh Jesus, what is that?” She sputters, balking at the taste. Mick seems to take delight in her reaction and his grin only grows. He turns the bottle to face her and in between her coughing she reads the label. It’s some kind of spiced rum and the smell alone makes her recoil in disgust. Definitely the worst thing she’s had this whole night.

“I’ll make you a different one, don’t worry.” He chuckles and Emily swears her heart could melt at the feeling of his fingers gently brushing hers when he takes the plastic cup from her grasp. He pours the remaining rum down the kitchen sink drains before rinsing out the cup with tap water and setting it back down on the counter and starting again. She doesn’t pay much attention as he mixes, instead fixating on the delicate way his long hands handle the various bottles and glasses. She realizes she may have been staring a bit too long when he passes her the next drink and she has to literally tear her eyes away from his hands to take it from him. 

She sips it lightly. It’s still alcoholic so it still tastes gross, but at least this time she recognizes the subtle hints of the mango vodka mixed with what seems to be Sierra Mist or sprite. 

“You really know your way around a kitchen full of alcohol.” She jokes lamely, wincing almost immediately after the words leave her mouth. How the hell was he supposed to respond to that?

“Yeah, I guess I have a future in bar tending.” He jokes and Emily literally feels her heart soar when she notices the way the corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles. She takes another swig of her drink.

She’s just about to try and steer the conversation away from bartending and onto something more flirtatious when she feels someone shoulder check her. She’s still in the process of lowering her drink from her mouth after her last sip, so when the unexpected hit comes to her shoulder, she feels the icy cool liquid go all the way down the front of her shirt and even feels a few ice cubes slip into her bra. She jerks even more at the unwarranted sensation of ice slipping down her body and the cup in her grasp falls to the floor as she jerks, spilling all over the cool linoleum kitchen tile.

“Oh, my bad!” A bitchy voice calls from over her right shoulder and she doesn’t even need to turn around to see that it’s Alexa Lisbon probably snickering with her group of friends. However, she’s less occupied with thoughts of strangling the blonde lowlights out of Alexa’s hair and more worried about the fact that her mango vodka sprite is currently covering Mick Rawson’s converse all stars and the cuffs of his jeans. Her jaw drops when she realizes what’s happened and in less than a second she’s snatching a roll of paper towels from the already over crowded kitchen counter and kneeling down on her hands and knees to wipe up the mess.

“Oh my gosh, Mick. I-I’m so, so sorry. I was just trying to get the ice out of my-“ but she’s cut off before she can finish. Not by understanding laughter or a reassurance from the boy she’s just dumped sticky vodka and soda all over, but by the unfortunate sensation of bile making its way back up her esophagus. She realizes, in hindsight, maybe it wasn’t the best idea to take a shot, an alcoholic chaser, a drink of rum, and two sips of a vodka soda in the span of less than ten minutes without a break or even a sip of water. Pair that with the fact that she’s bent over with her head at a 45 degree angle to the floor as she mops up a spill with paper towels, and the churning in her stomach is definitely justified. She isn’t even able to swallow before she turns to the side, praying that she’s a far enough distance away from Mick’s already stained shoes, and promptly vomits onto the kitchen tile. 

Suddenly, there’s no more idle chatter from  
the other inhabitants of the kitchen or the living room. The music is still blaring, but she knows that everyone in the vicinity is staring at the girl who just lost her lunch and four or five drinks on Maddie Preston’s kitchen floor. As soon as she’s done literally spilling her guts, she wipes a shaking hand across her mouth in disgust. She feels absolutely wrecked and if the hot tears already spilling down her cheeks are any indication, this very well may be the worst night of her life. She vaguely registers Mick’s accent as he tries to tell her something but she doesn’t stick around to hear it. As soon as she’s up and able to balance on her own feet, she’s racing towards the bathroom that Elle showed her earlier before their game of beer pong. 

It seems that the universe allows her one small pass and the bathroom is blissfully vacant. She rushes inside and locks the door tightly before immediately sliding down the doorframe to rest on the soft bath mat below. As she begins to sob, she kneads her fingers through the soft, woven rug and tries to calm herself down from the brink of a panic attack. The music from the party is thankfully muffled by the bathroom door, but her head throbs in pain as she cries and dehydrates herself further.

How could she be so stupid?

She takes a shuddering breath and stands on shaking knees as she turns towards the sink. She avoids her reflection, well aware that the hard work Elle put into her makeup has been destroyed by tears of self-pity, but she cups her hands under the faucet and lets the tap water flow into her hands. For a second, she stands there mesmerized by the cool water running through her hands before she brings her hands to her mouths and takes a sip of her first non-alcoholic liquid all night. She swishes the tap water around her mouth, trying hard to rid her tongue of the taste of her own vomit and the sticky sweetness of the sugary drinks. When she finishes, she wipes her mouth with one of Maddie Preston’s hand towels before sliding back to sit on the floor once more. She doesn’t see herself leaving this bathroom anytime soon, so she might as well get comfortable. 

Before she can start in on another round of tears as the image of vomiting on the floor next to Mick pops back into her mind, she hears a sharp knock on the door and her head pounds along with the sound. She shuts her eyes tightly, trying to block out the noise. When the knocking doesn’t stop, she forces herself to speak despite her hoarse voice.

“Go the hell away! There’s five thousand other bathrooms in this house!” She shouts, uncaring of how rude she’s being. She thinks after the night she’s having, it’s a bit deserved. 

“Em, it’s me! Please open the door? I brought you those pita chips you like.” 

She has never felt more relieved in her entire life to hear the voice of her best friend and she nearly cries in joy when she leans over to unlock the door and Elle is standing there in her cute, skin-tight top, holding a mini bag of pita chips and a bottle of water.

As Elle slides down to sit next to her and shuts the bathroom door once more, Emily realizes that nobody deserves a best friend like Elle. Not even her.

“How’s it going?” The other girl asks softly, twisting off the cap of the water bottle and passing it to Emily’s still trembling hand. She takes a few sips of the blissfully cold liquid, her hand gripping the plastic bottle like it’s her only remaining lifeline. As soon as she finishes, she reseals the bottle and sets it down beside her. She leans her head on Elle’s shoulder, letting the girl’s short brown strands fall against her cheek. Elle’s perfume isn’t too overpowering and she breathes in deep, savoring a familiar scent. 

“Elle, I really messed that up.” She admits and before she knows it, salty tears are streaming down her face once more and rolling from the tip of her nose before falling to the tile below. She chokes back a sob as Elle grabs her hand, her touch is so warm and comforting. It reminds Emily of her mother when she was younger and would cry over a skinned knee or that time she saw a bird die. 

“Aw, Em. You didn’t mess anything up. Don’t cry,” Her best friend sighs, running her thumb up and down the length of Elle’s hand. The action is so pure that it elicits another hiccuping sob from Emily and she buries her face in her best friend’s shoulder, breathing in deep. “Really, you didn’t. Do you know how many times I’ve vomited at parties? Nobody even bats an eye anymore,” She reassures softly as Emily tries hard to believe her. “Honestly, it’s kind of cool.” Elle adds after a pregnant pause and Emily can’t stop her laugher at that. Unfortunately, laughing while crying isn’t a healthy mix and she soon feels mucus running down her nose. 

“Oh gosh,” She sighs. Quickly, she removes her head from its horizontal position on her friend’s shoulder and grabs one of the hand towels she used earlier to wipe the gross mess off her face. Elle, however, isn’t cringing at her wretched state. Instead, the other girl merely smiles as Emily tries to purge her heated skin of any traces of tears or mucus. “Don’t look at me,” she jokes, only half-serious. “My makeup probably makes me look like a drunk raccoon.” She points out with a pout, but Elle’s grin only grows.

“Shut up, I’ve seen you look worse,” Elle reminds her and Emily occupies her hands by taking another drink of water. “Remember when you failed that Geometry test Freshman year and we all thought you were going to throw yourself off the roof?” She reminds her and Emily chokes as she swallows her sip of water, her laughter at the sudden memory leading the liquid down the wrong pipe. She coughs for a bit before her chest finally begins to clear again and she can feel herself return to a normal breathing pattern. She leans back into the bathroom cabinets, the wooden doors pressing into her back through her borrowed crop top.

For a few moments, there’s only silence and the muffled sound of the house party’s music through the door. However, her head is so heavy it feels like they might as well be underwater. Pairing that with the low lighting of the bathroom and the way her body doesn’t quite feel like it’s returned from the way it was floating on air merely thirty minutes ago, she doesn’t really know if she wants to leave her small sanctuary. All she knows is that she’s eternally grateful her friend is here beside her and that she’s finally able to drink some water.

“Thank you for dealing with me,” Emily mutters miserably, shutting her eyes gently. “I know you probably didn’t see the night ending this way.” She admits with a sigh and she feels Elle’s shrug next to her. Their shoulders are touching, but her best friend’s hand is still intertwined with hers, the other girl’s thumb stroking her hand in a circular motion. 

“I don’t mind. Those guys are lame anyway,” Elle responds after a silent moment of contemplation. “Besides, I’d rather be in here with you than out there with them any day.” She explains and Emily fights to open her eyes. She’s so tired from the night’s events. All she wants to do is go home and crawl into bed for the rest of her life. 

“You don’t mean that.” She mumbles hotly, biting the inside of her cheek. It’s a nervous habit and she knows the tissue is worn from years of repeating the movement, but she can’t help it. Her free hand picks at a loose thread on her jeans before remembering the clothes she’s wearing are Elle’s and she shouldn’t mess with them. 

“Yes I do,” Elle insists. Emily has never heard her usually easy-going best friend sound so deathly serious. She rips her gaze away from the knee of her jeans to meet her friend’s gaze and is genuinely shocked when she sees how wide her brown eyes have grown. “I mean that more than anything, Em.” She expresses and for a split second, Emily is really able to look at her friend. Maybe in a way she’s never been able to before. She sees the honesty and the pain in the other girl’s eyes, as they lock into her gaze. She sees the way her upper lip trembles slightly and the way her eyelashes brush past each other as she blinks. She notices the placement of every freckle like a constellation across a mocha sky and the way that there’s just a small circle of gold surrounding the deep brown of her eyes like the rings of Saturn. 

She doesn’t realize how close they are until she can feel Elle’s breath, still warm and sweet, against her cheek. She doesn’t realize what’s happening to her when Elle leans in and suddenly, the space between them is less than a millimeter. She doesn’t realize that her lips are working on their own volition until Elle’s make the move first, taking the steps necessary to link them together. 

She feels like she’s having an out of body experience when she feels a hand that’s certainly not her own pass through her hair and rest at the nape of her neck. It’s almost as if she’s watching this happen to her, but she’s also experiencing it at the same time. She can’t possibly explain how being in such close proximity to the girl she’s called her best friend for two long years makes her feel, or how the unexpected way this all happened to her. She never would have seen this coming, especially from Elle.

But she pushes that all away when she feels the way their bodies align and how it all just seems so *right*. Like this was the way it was supposed to be all along, and she’s shocked that this hasn’t happened before tonight. 

But before she knows it, the alignment is broken. Their orbit falls away as they come back to Earth and Elle removes her hand from its place on her lower neck. The reality of what just happened settles in and Emily is suddenly standing, not even realizing how she got up until Elle is trying to pull her back down.

“Em, I-I don’t know why I did that,” she breathes, her big brown eyes welling with tears. And Emily wants to stay. She wants to wrap her arms around the other girl and comfort her and tell her that it’s okay, that she even liked it. 

But she can’t.

She’s scared, terrified even of what just happened. Why did she like it? Did she even like it? There’s a million and one thoughts running through her mind and suddenly the walls are closing in, inexplicably tight and her breathing comes in short, panicked intervals. She just knows she can’t be in this room right now and she grabs her hand back from her friend and rushes out the door, not saying a word. 

She pushes through the throng of teenagers huddling in pairs and their faces blur as she realizes her vision is spinning. She rushes out the front entrance, the blood rushing to her ears and blocking out the sounds of the world around her. She doesn’t feel like she’s back in her life. After what happened in the bathroom, she feels like she’s entered some type of alternate reality that she can never return from. A line dividing her life from then and her life now.

She pulls out her outdated flip phone from her back pocket. She has one and Hotch has one but only for absolute emergencies. She knows he’s probably pissed at her for missing JJ’s game, but she can feel the tears rolling down her cheeks once more and she knows that he’s the only person in the world that she can count on right now. She dials his number from memory, praying under her breath as the dial tone rings and rings. Her breath hitches when she hears his voice on the other end.

“Em? Are you okay?” He asks. His voice is hoarse like he just woke up and she realizes that she doesn’t even know what time it is. It seems like time has no meaning in her life as of now.

“H-Hotch, can you come get me?” She asks pitifully, hating the way her voice sounds through her tears. She feels the cool night air breeze across her bare midriff and she wraps her arms around herself. She can’t be alone right now, but she can’t face anybody inside that house again.

“Yeah, I’ll be right there, Em. Just text the address.” He agrees through a yawn and she nods, despite the obvious fact that he can’t see her. As she hangs up the phone after thanking her brother, she texts him the house’s address with shaking hands. 

She breathes in once. Twice. Three times.

She never believed that the night would go this way. She never believed anything that happened to her tonight could even happen. She never believed that she could get herself into so much trouble.

She never believed she’d be sharing her first kiss with the girl she called her best friend. 

xxx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading! if you enjoyed, leave a comment down below please, they make my whole day!!!


	8. all my life i’ve lived for loving you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: aspects of this work bear similarities to the separate publication “Patron Saint of Lost Causes”. the author of this work attributes the content in this chapter to the correct source (@themetaphorgirl). Publication of this work is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not replace the intellectual property of the above source. This work is intended for personal, non-commercial use only and the author attributes subsequently reproduced or reconstructed concepts to the original source, all rights reserved.

She’s sitting on the front curb, uncaring of how it looks to the rest of the world, when a familiar looking red Ford truck pulls up and stop a few feet away from her.

Despite the fact that she’s been trying and (failing) to hold back tears for the last seventeen minutes, she somehow manages a tentative smile as she realizes that her strict, unwavering, rule-loving older brother has definitely just technically committed motor vehicle theft because there’s no way in hell their foster father would willingly give the keys to his dilapidated work truck to a sixteen-year-old without so much as a permit. 

She pulls open the door and clambers inside to sit in the passenger seat, eternally grateful for her older brother. She knows he probably needs the sleep before his shift tomorrow and she’s well-aware that he probably had to push back his moral principles and stringent ethics code to even drive out to the suburbs to come get her, but he still came. To her, that seems like the greatest indicator that despite the cold bravado he shows to the rest of the world, deep down, Hotch is the softest guy she knows. Even if he would never admit it himself.

“Hey,” she manages to choke out, trying to force the lump in her throat down. Unshed tears threaten to fall again, but she blinks them away as she buckles her seatbelt. Hotch grips the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turn a sickly shade of white and she feels a stab of guilt in her chest. She knows it’s killing him to break the rules, but she’s got no other options. She ran out on her best friend right after a *very* unexpected make out session, the only other person who she even slightly knows at the party is probably wiping her vomit off of his shoes, and she’s not going to call her brother’s best friend at 11:30pm only because she’s the only person she knows who has his own car. So, Hotch it is, despite how much it pains her to see him struggling with the fact that he’s had to put his ass on the line to save her from what can easily be described at the most confusing night of her life.

“Thank you. For stealing a car and driving all the way out here,” she clarifies. The only noise in the car besides her light sniffling is the static of the old, cheap radio. She notices holes in the upholstery and dashboard from obvious cigarette burns and a pretty sizable crack in the windshield. The old truck certainly isn’t much, but if Greg ever finds out somehow that Hotch has taken it, she knows that nothing good can come of it. At least it’s Friday and that means the man has been taking advantage of happy hour all afternoon out at a bar. The only reason his truck was in the driveway was probably because he was towed home once more or he managed to maneuver his way back without killing himself or somebody else. The thought makes her utterly sick to her stomach. It’s no secret that Garcias’s parents were killed in a head-on accident by a drunk driver. She’s sure the imagery of their asshole foster father meandering home, drunk off his ass, probably pisses Hotch off enough to justify even taking the truck in the first place. 

“I mean it, Hotch,” she continues softly when her brother doesn’t respond. “I-I don’t know what I’d do without you.” She sighs, reverting back to biting the inside of her cheek. The silence makes her uneasy and the tension in the truck’s cab is so thick it could be cut with a knife. She knows he’s disappointed, but it’s still hard to take when she hears what he has to say. 

“You missed JJ’s game,” he comments, his voice is as cold as ice and her gaze immediately drops to the ground in shame. She knows she’s screwed up, hasn’t this whole night been a reflection of that? “Derek told me you lied about going to study or something, but he knew that Maddie was throwing a party tonight and that’s where Elle was taking you,” he continues, staring straight ahead as he drives, his eyes concentrating on the road as they pass under the dim glow of the street lamps. “As soon as JJ finished, she ran up and asked where you were. How the hell do you think we were supposed to find it easy to tell her that you ditched her game just to get drunk or high or whatever with a bunch of people you barely know?” He mutters, his tone bordering on venomous. She’s rarely seen him this mad, save for when he’s heard about something Greg has done. A car passes and it’s front headlights illuminate his face. She can see the heavy bags under his dark eyes, plastered on a face too young to experience such constant exhaustion from acting as a parental figure and working to provide them with what they need almost 24/7. 

“Hotch, I-I’m sorry. I am, I just-“ she tries to explain herself, but her brother cuts her off.

“Save the apologies for JJ, she’s devastated. I’m not kidding, Em, you really messed up this time.” He reminds her and she bites down hard on her lip as she leans further into her seat, her head tilting backwards. This whole night has got to be some sort of fucked up nightmare. Any minute now she’s going to wake up in her bed on Friday morning and realize that she has another chance. That she can go back and fix everything that happened. 

But, she doesn’t wake up. Doesn’t even move until Hotch is pulling the car into their neighborhood that couldn’t look any more different than Maddie Preston’s. He flicks the headlights off three houses down from their’s and approaches their driveway at the slowest crawl possible to avoid detection even though Greg’s bedroom is located all the way at the back of the house and in his drunken stupor he probably couldn’t tell an engine apart from a cat’s purr. As he shuts off the ignition and pulls the keys from the vehicle, she slides out of the passenger side with as much as caution as possible. They both quietly shut their doors and she visibly watches Hotch’s shoulders slump with a mixture of exhaustion and relief. She knows that she’s the reason for every single one of his soon-to-be grey hairs and she hates herself for it. 

But, before they can head inside, she feels a hand on her shoulder. She almost jumps, but realizes that her paranoia is completely unfounded. The chilly night air makes her shiver and she becomes painfully aware of her revealing attire and the streaks of mascara running down her face. She must look a real mess, but the only thoughts running through her mind are those of kicking off her uncomfortable heeled ankle boots and crawling into bed for the rest of her life. 

“I need to know you’re okay,” Her brother sighs, finally meeting her gaze. Her head throbs with the dull thud of crying her eyes once already that evening and the remnants of the six or more drinks she had consumed hours before. She shudders when she realizes that just an hour or so prior she was taking shots with Elle and Alexa Lisbon. The memory feels like it’s from a year ago rather than just earlier that evening. “I don’t know what happened tonight, but if you need to talk I’m here. I’m still disappointed at you, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to stop being your brother.” He scoffs, and although he’s never been too skilled at being emotionally vulnerable with anybody, she gets the point. Before she even realizes what she’s doing, she tackles him into a hug and he stumbles backwards a bit, but regains his balance quickly. His strong arms wrap around her trembling shoulders and she squeezes her eyes shut in order to deflect the tears threatening to spill over once more. 

They stay that way for another minute or so before she pulls her face away from his chest and bashfully shaved her hands into her jean pockets.

“Let’s get inside,” she proposes softly, brushing a lock of dark hair behind her ear. “I don’t want the neighbors to know I care about you.” She jokes, even earning a ghost of a smile from Hotch. They slip inside, blissfully unnoticed, and she bids him a soft goodnight before she retreats into the bathroom and he heads into the boy’s room. She makes quick work of ridding her face of any traces of makeup, symbolically washing away the pain of the evening along with her facade. She appreciates Hotch’s offer to talk, but she can’t envision herself telling her brother any of the events that transpired at the party. In fact, the only person she could talk to about she left alone in a house party bathroom after accidentally locking lips with her. 

She sighs as she makes her way into her shared bedroom as quietly as physically possible. She’s just experienced maybe one her top five worst nights of all time and possibly forever ostracized herself from the student body of Madison Heights High, she doesn’t need polarizing stares from her sisters who probably hate her for skipping out on one of the few times they could be together and pretend to just be a normal family for once. But, of course, the universe doesn’t grant her a pardon on this one. Although she figures that’s fair considering she doesn’t really believe she deserves one after what she’s put her family through tonight.

As she kicks off her borrowed shoes and slips out of Elle’s jeans and into her tartan pajama bottoms, she hears the slightest of rustles from JJ and Penelope’s bed. When she glances up, she notices one of the two blonde heads sitting up straight, seemingly staring into her soul. She doesn’t need to squint in the darkness and past to decipher that the figure is JJ. Her hair is a bit tangled from being slept on and Emily fights the urge to walk over and smooth out the long blonde strands like she used to when she first came to live with them and JJ had only just turned 10. 

The youngest girl in the family had always been someone Emily felt protective over. She cared deeply for all of her siblings, but saw the most prominent reflection of herself in JJ. When it was just the two of them in the room, JJ would crawl into her bed almost every other night just to lie down next to her and “feel her heart” the younger girl claimed. She was mentally pretty young due to always being the baby of the family before she had been placed in foster care and even at ten she preferred playing pretend games or making her four or five stuffed animals talk to each other instead of interacting with other people her age. As she matured, Emily saw how the girl never truly moved past that mental stage of being the baby of the family, even despite the fact that Spencer was technically the youngest and JJ had become almost as protective over him as Hotch or Derek. The only discrepancy with that was that Spencer, with all his wisdom and plethora of facts, was mentally older. Not to mention the fact that JJ was the only kid in their family that still went to middle school while all of her siblings attended Madison Heights. Emily knew JJ’s learned behavior had more to do with the psychological effects of the relationship she shared with her older sister, Roslyn, but Emily hadn’t really discussed much of the girl’s biological family before, so it was hard to decipher what exactly was the cognitive trigger for her behavior. 

In the end, all she knew was that she had screwed up and that a simple sorry wasn’t going to cut it this time. 

She could feel her youngest sister’s eyes on her as she finished changing and kicked the pile of discarded clothes more towards her hamper. It wasn’t until she was actually climbing into bed did the other girl actually say anything. 

“I’m mad at you.” She whispers softly, her voice almost imperceptible it’s so quiet. Emily’s eyes dart up in registration of the sudden confession and she meet’s JJ’s half-lidded gaze as she pulls her legs up to sit on her back in a criss-cross position. She can hear the infuriation in the young voice and the cold greeting sends an unwarranted chill down her spine. She’s not really a fan of being on the receiving end of JJ’s anger, she decides.

“Yeah, I’m pretty mad at me too right now,” She shoots back with candor, the exhaustion taking its toll on her body as the softness of her bed beckons below. But she can’t just lay down and try to ignore the problem at hand, even if every fiber of her being is calling her to go to sleep after such a stress-inducing evening. She knows that JJ needs her right now, otherwise the younger girl wouldn’t have bothered to say anything. “Do you wanna...come over here?” She offers as nonchalantly as possible, patting the foot of her bed. She figures that JJ doesn’t want to risk waking Garcia if they’re going to talk so she sacrifices the end of her bed for the younger girl to occupy. It’s very reminiscent of when JJ was younger and she would sit on Emily’s bed and insist that her older sister would braid her hair even though she was perfectly capable of doing it herself. It brings a slight nostalgic smile to Emily’s face as she watches the girl cross the room with a slight hesitant before perching herself on the edge of Emily’s twin mattress. 

For a moment, there’s only the sounds of Garcia’s breathing from the other bed and the ambience of the crickets chirping just outside their window. Evidently, neither girl wants to be the first one to speak their mind, but Emily knows she has to take the reins on this one. JJ is anything but outwardly confrontational.

“I’m sorry about missing your game, Jayje. I really am.” She sighs heavily. She doesn’t even need to look at your younger sister to see the disappointment scrawled over her innocent face.

“Then why’d you do it?” She prompts and Emily’s stomach twists into an irreversible knot. Why did she do it? The question is so simple in its own regard, yet completely complex at the same time. It sounds more like something Spencer would ask when he doesn’t have an accurate grasp on the emotional depth of a situation, so she’s a bit surprised to hear the words leave JJ’s mouth. 

“I-I don’t know,” she admits lamely, running an agitated hand across her face. “I don’t know why I did it. I was just being selfish, I guess.” She explains, keeping her answers as succinct as possible. She knows it’s not nearly a passable excuse for her actions, especially after she gets a glimpse of JJ’s miserable expression. Another pang of guilt stabs her body.

“I don’t understand. I’ve been talking about this for like a month now and then you just decide that you have better things to do?” The girl points out, seemingly trying to make sense of the situation they’ve found themselves in. Emily sucks in a breath, the watery look that crosses JJ’s face is harder to take than anything else she’s experienced that night. “Sometimes,” Her younger sister starts but a hitching breath cuts her off. She exhales to steady herself away from the brink of tears before she continues. “Sometimes it feels like you don’t even care anymore.” JJ admits and Emily swears she can feel her heart break. It feels like somebody’s punched her right in the stomach as she takes in the image of her little sister trying not to cry, her voice so hoarse and raw from holding back tears. 

Yeah, this is definitely something she never wants to go through again.

“Jayje, of course I care,” she whispers, restraining herself from becoming a crying mess right then and there. “I care about you and everyone else more than anything in the world.” She tries to reason, but JJ blinks hard and turns her face downwards so as not to meet Emily’s gaze. 

“Then why did you ditch us?” She sighs, her voice as small and juvenile as it seems it was on the first night Emily met her.

The older girl gives a watery smile, trying to power through one of the most difficult conversations she’s ever dealt with. “I don’t know, kid. I don’t know what got into me.” She rationalizes, being as honest as she can. She tries to imagine how Hotch would handle the situation and somehow, the image of her fiercely protective older brother gives her the motivation to face the problem. 

JJ seems wholly unfazed by the answer. “Even the other day you were talking about how Derek should have been there to protect Spencer but then you turn around and do this. It doesn’t make any sense.” Her sister points out and Emily watches as a few tears spill over from the trusting, kind sapphire blue eyes of the younger girl. She leans forward and swipes them away from JJ’s pale cheek with the pad of her thumb. She takes it as a good sign that the girl doesn’t pull away. 

“I was being selfish, but I won’t do something like that ever again,” she promises, knowing that it’s one she’s made to keep. Plus, it won’t be too difficult now that she’s seen the aftermath of her actions. “I swear to you that I’ll be at every single one of your games,” She holds out her pinkie as a sign of truce, but also to commemorate the promise she’s just made. “As long as you still want me there.” She adds. Hesitantly, JJ links her significantly smaller pinkie finger with the older girl and the corners of her mouth turn upwards into a half-smile.

“Of course I still want you there, stupid,” she groans light-heartedly. They break the bond of their pinkies apart but JJ takes her by surprise when she leans in and leans her head on her sister’s shoulder. The action is too reminiscent of a scene she’s experienced earlier on in the evening, but she forces those thoughts down as she wraps a loving arm around her little sister’s shoulders. “Just don’t ditch me again,” she warns. “Unless you have a really good reason next time.” She tacks on through a yawn. Both of them are clearly pushing past the limits of exhaustion but Emily doesn’t push her away. Sleep can wait.

“Oh yeah, and what’s a really good reason?” She counters teasingly. She pokes the younger girl’s abdomen in order to tickle her and JJ buries her face in Emily’s shoulder further to muffle her surprised yelp. “Like...if I got struck by lightning? Would that be a good enough reason for you?” She jokes, tickling JJ’s sides a bit more. The younger girl pushes herself away to avoid the attack, muffling her giggles in the palm of her hand. “What if I got abducted by cows? Is that a good reason?” She adds, taking the opportunity to grab JJ’s sides once more. 

“Yes! Yes! That’s a good enough reason!” She admits through her laughter, still trying to keep her voice pitched low. Both of their giggles die down after a minute and finally Emily pulls the younger girl into a much-needed hug. It’s apparent to her that she doesn’t have much, but if there’s anybody in the world she can depend on it’s her family. Who else would steal a car from an angry drunk to come get her at a house party in the middle of the night? Who else would joke with her or put up with her childish whims? Who else would try (and fail) to teach her how to play football or soccer but still ask her to come and help anyway just because they wanted her around? 

She’s different than most people, she figures as she bids her little sister goodnight and watches the younger girl head back to her side of the room. Most people only get one family in life and that’s it. They can add or subtract from what they’ve got, but there’s not a whole lot of room for do-overs in that department. 

She guesses she’s lucky that way. 

xxx

Saturday mornings are undeniably her favorite, which is why she never wastes any time in starting the day. 

52 weeks out of the year makes for only 52 Saturdays. Nine of those technically don’t count because they occur over summer vacation and that’s when the passage of time starts to blur because of her lack of stringent routine and her propensity to stay up until 2:30am each night. So she really only gets 43 Saturday mornings a year which is why she has to make every single one count.

Saturdays are different. Hotch works the mid or closing shift because of the dinner rush, Derek and JJ obviously don’t have practice on the weekends once their summer training or camp sessions end, Emily usually takes the day off to finish her homework or any projects she’s been procrastinating, and Spencer can’t spend his entire day at the library because on the weekends it doesn’t open until 1pm. Add to that the fact that their shitty foster father usually takes the morning shifts at his construction job so that he can spend his night binge-drinking, and she’s got a perfect scenario. So, for one blissful morning once a week, everyone is together. She likes it best that way.

Usually, she’ll wake up earlier than most and start her day by savoring the hot water in the shower while everyone else is sleeping in. But, today she’s got a different agenda. She just needs a little help first which is why she finds herself in the boy’s bedroom at 6:30am, softly shaking her younger brother awake.

“Mmmf, P’nelope, go away.” Spencer groans into his misshapen downy pillow. The ten-year-old’s hair sticks up in about 90 different directions as he flips over in bed, his back towards her. 

“C’mon, Spence. Don’t you want to see the surprise I have waiting in the kitchen for you?” She tempts in a sing-song tone, hoping the anticipating will stir her younger brother out of bed. No such luck. Instead, he merely pulls the covers more centrally over himself as he flips back over to face her.

“I can easily debunk the psychological process of the compliance procedure you’re presenting to try and lure me out of bed. You’re taunting me with the promise of a nondescript surprise, but I know you’re just playing into my curiosity and trying to get me to follow you and disturb my sleep schedule so that I can help you with whatever you need. The outcome of your ruse is less than advantageous for me and deteriorates my trust for you even further, so that the next time you present me with an opportunity, I’m almost 60% less likely to follow because the betrayal and negative reaction from the previous situation will still be fresh in my memory.” He rambles, caramel brown eyes staring straight up at his ceiling as his mouth moves a mile a minute. Penelope, however, is unfazed by his analysis of her offer and merely shrugs.

“You comin’ or not, dork?” She grins, reaching down to ruffle his already atrocious looking bedhead. He pulls a face.

“Yeah, why not?” He mutters, not without a signature eye roll that he seems to have picked up from either her or Emily. 

He follows her diligently into the kitchen, mumbling some nonsense about needing to maintain a solid sleep schedule on the weekends even though she knows that he’ll just stay up until midnight devouring page after page of some novel until Hotch finally snaps at him to go to bed. 

“So, what’s the surprise?” He prompts, sliding into one of the mismatched thrift store chairs at the kitchen table.

“Well, the surprise is not necessarily...ready yet. You’re going to help me, my sweet brother whom I love more than life. Who I love more than watching teachers struggle to make a PowerPoint slide full screen. Who I love more than-“ she’s really laying it on as thick as possible before she gets cut off by the younger male.

“Save the flattery for Derek,” he scoffs and her perpetually sunny disposition merely grows. “What do you want me to do?” He sighs, standing from his position at the table.

So, they pull out the flour, sugar, eggs, butter, and milk from the pantry and fridge. She reminds him to be quiet as they begin mixing the necessary ingredients to make pancakes, not wanting to wake the others and ruin the surprise. When her brother counters this request by asking why he couldn’t be the one to be surprised, she merely responds by flicking a bit of flour at him. Together, they make a pretty efficient team if they ignore the fact that Spencer manages to get fragments of eggshell in the batter and she almost winds up burning one of her eyebrows off when she attempts to turn on the stovetop to heat the griddle. Towards the very end of the process when the batter is prepared (and there’s only a few remnants of their baking adventure smeared across the countertops and kitchen floor) she retreats into their limited cupboard space and returns triumphantly with a bag of milk chocolate chips. She wishes she had a camera to capture the look on Spencer’s face when he sees the treat, but she figures her memory will serve her well enough.

“Awesome!” He cheers and she holds a finger up to her lips to remind him to be quiet. “Right, right, I forgot,” He corrects himself, immediately dropping to a whisper. “But this is great! Personally I would have gotten dark chocolate chips instead of milk chocolate because dark chocolate contains a naturally occurring chemical substance known as phenethylamine which binds to the receptors of our neurons and triggers the release of the inhibitory monoamine neurotransmitter dopamine, but, I can see why you went with the milk chocolate.” He comments, ripping open the bag and popping a few of the chips in his mouth. 

She listens to him ramble on for a few more minutes as they begin to pour their batter onto the griddle, producing some marginally okay looking pancakes filled with chocolate chips. She’s just about to place another ladle of batter onto the griddle when she registers something being knocked behind her right shoulder. She glances over only to be greeted with the image of Spencer standing stock-still at the counter, the half-full bag of chocolate chips that he’s been sneaking handfuls of tipped over with the remains of its contents decorating the kitchen floor. Her mouth falls open and she immediately abandons the pancake she’s just poured onto the griddle to face her brother.

“What happened?” She hisses, confusion evident on her expression. Spencer looks aghast as his mistake and immediately drops to the floor to start sweeping the chocolate into his hands and back into the open bag.

“It just- I was just trying to- oh jeez,” He stammers, picking up handfuls of the chocolate. “Five-second rule, right? Maybe if we just put it back really quickly it’ll be okay?” He chuckles nervously and Penelope bites her lower lip in silent contemplation. Well...it’s not like anyone is *watching* them...

She’s just about to respond when the air around them starts to smell different than the sweet scent of melted chocolate and pancake batter. She turns back around to face the stove which has unfortunately been left on high with a single pancake engulfed in smoke sitting on the griddle. 

“Oh jimminy Christmas,” she groans, her voice switching from confused to panicked in an instant. She leaps over to shut the stove burners off and immediately grabs her spatula and starts waving it through the puffs of smoke to clear the air before the smoke alarm can sound and alert everyone in the house of her mistake. However, she doesn’t get far before she hears an unmistakable throat clear behind her and she turns around.

“What is going on here?” Hotch demands. Penelope and Spencer both freeze as if they’ve been caught mid-bank heist. Spencer’s cupping a handful of floor chocolate chips and Penelope’s wielding a spatula as the cloud of smoke dissipates behind her. Hotch looks anything but amused at the compromising scene and quickly rushes over to the stove, taking Penelope’s spatula and removing the offending burnt pancake from the griddle’s surface. He drops it into the trash and takes the griddle off of the still-hot stovetop. By the time he’s turned back around, Spencer is hurriedly shoving his scoop of chocolate chips back into the bag and Penelope stares back at her older brother with hopefully what resembles a purely innocent expression. 

“Pancake?” She offers with a timid smile. Hotch does not return the gesture. His narrow eagle-eyed gaze focuses on the two of them with intense concentration and Penelope feels like she’s under interrogation. 

“You two are never allowed in here alone again,” he orders and both Penelope and Spencer find themselves nodding immediately. He brushes past them, presumably to head back to his room, but stops after a moment and turns back to face them. “And Spencer?” He adds, his tone dangerously low.

“Yeah?” Spencer questions, shifting his weight from foot to foot, a classic indicator of guilty behavior. 

“The five second rule isn’t a thing.” Hotch asserts, and just like that he’s gone. Leaving a perplexed Penelope and Spencer wondering just exactly how long he had been standing there before deciding to step in. 

At least she’s sure of one thing: 

She has to think of a new psychological persuasive tactic if she’s going to try and get Spencer on dishes duty this morning.

xxx

“You have *got* to be kidding me!”

In a household like theirs, there’s not a whole lot of opportunities for tranquil weekend afternoons. Sunday afternoon finds four out of six of them grouped around the living room coffee table, a deck of overly worn Uno cards resting in the middle. Her, Derek, Emily, and Penelope are all playing a round while Spencer lounges on the couch nearby with his nose buried in a Sherlock Holmes story. She’s just placed an add four card on top of Penelope’s green 2 and Derek’s infuriated reaction is more than worth the glare he sends her way as he grabs four cards from the deck. 

“This game is stupid anyway,” he grumbles, placing the cards in his hand in addition to the twelve cards he’s got already. The three girls all laugh at the fact that he’s got more cards then all of them combined now and his glare only sharpens as they giggle. “It’s based entirely on luck anyway.” He snaps, rolling his eyes at their smirks.

“That’s not what you were saying last round when you were winning.” Emily points out teasingly, fanning her four cards out before her.

“Besides, that’s not even technically correct,” Spencer begins, peeking out from behind his lengthy novel. “There was recently a paper published proving that Uno is a highly mathematically and strategically complex card game and the recursion theory for a single-player tractable game of Uno goes on for almost fourteen lines,” he starts, setting the book down completely on his lap as he dog-ears the page he’s left off on. “By applying game theory and assigning a variable for each constant relating to number of players, card number, and number of the card, you can use mathematics to prove Uno in either the cooperative or uncooperative sense, but it depends on a series of variables that can be derived following the Hamiltonian path taken from a partite graph,” he rambles on and his siblings all share knowing looks. JJ tries to hide her smirk behind her deck of cards. If nobody puts a stop to him, he’ll just go on forever. Or he’ll run out of breath. Whichever comes first. “This of course only applies if you eliminate the playable ‘action cards’ like the draw four because-“ he’s right about to launch into another lengthy explanation when Emily not-so-stealthily flicks one of her remaining cards at the younger boy. He stops suddenly as the blue 8 hits the bridge of his nose and flutters to his lap. The four seated around the coffee table burst into laughter as Spencer sniffs and throws the card back towards his sister. “Fine, be that way.” He shoot back, picking up his book once more with an air of haughtiness.

“Aw, c’mon kid. Just because we don’t care about the math behind Uno doesn’t mean we don’t care about you.” Derek grins, leaving over to hit the kid’s knee playfully. Spencer merely rolls his eyes dramatically.

“You can talk about recursions or whatever for as long as you want,” JJ offers and even manages to get Spencer to glance up from behind his book for a second. “Just make sure to write it down so I can turn it into my math teacher.” She finishes, spurring another round of laughter from her siblings. They do love the boy; it just also happens to be incredibly easy to push his buttons sometimes. It’s not like he doesn’t fight back either. JJ has seen the result of a prank war between Derek and Spencer and she knows for a fact that she wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of any of Spencer’s diabolical prank ideas. So, when she hears the landline ring from the kitchen counter and offers to go answer it, she makes sure to kiss the top of Spencer’s head as she walks by as a sign of her peace offering. 

“Hello.” She greets informally as she picks up the receiver. They don’t exactly get a lot of phone calls ever so there’s no set way to answer the phone if it rings. Most of the time they even tend to let it go to voicemail to avoid the daily onslaught of telemarketers or the like. 

There’s no immediate response from whoever’s on the other line and she’s just about to end the call when a suddenly, a strangled cry on the other end stops her from hanging up. Her hand freezes and she feels a nervous jump in her heart. What was going on?

“A-are you okay? Who is this?” She asks into the device, knowing that such an odd request has already alerted the rapt attention of her siblings who sit merely twenty feet away. However, she feels compelled to know what this mystery caller has to say and can’t bring herself to hang up despite the alarm bells ringing in her head.

“I-I need, is this- I have to speak to J-Jennifer. Jennifer Jareau. Does she still live here?” A woman’s voice calls tearfully into the phone and JJ swears she feels the earth stop spinning at that moment. It’s so surreal she almost doesn’t believe it’s happening to her. Without any shadow of a doubt she knows who’s speaking into the phone, but her blood runs cold at the thought. It’s been years without so much as a whisper and then suddenly out of the blue she’s calling? Like everything is just back to normal? “I- are you still there? I don’t know if this is the right number or not, I found it in my phone and I just thought-“ the woman on the other end starts rambling on with oblivious nervous energy to the delicate situation and somehow, against every fiber in her being, JJ is able to force out a single word.

“Mom?” 

xxx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enjoy! please leave a review if you liked this chapter and want to see more!


	9. i will sing no requiem tonight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this chapter took so long! i’ve been busy with summer homework and haven’t had as much time as usual to just sit down and write. anyway, thank you all for your kind comments on the last few chapters and please enjoy this one!
> 
> Disclaimer: aspects of this work bear similarities to the separate publication “Patron Saint of Lost Causes”. the author of this work attributes the content in this chapter to the correct source (@themetaphorgirl). Publication of this work is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not replace the intellectual property of the above source. This work is intended for personal, non-commercial use only and the author attributes subsequently reproduced or reconstructed concepts to the original source, all rights reserved.

Her earliest memory is of a soft pink blanket, about the length and width of an unfolded bandana. The silky material is worn on the edges, even at age three, from clutching it close to her for the majority of her short life. For as long as she can remember, she isn’t seen without the thing and the blanket she calls her “Kiki” follows her wherever she goes every single day. 

But the blanket wasn’t just special because it was allegedly the first thing she held onto when she was a newborn, it’s only special because somebody else gives it meaning. When Roslyn sits her down on her bedroom floor and announces that they’re going to have a picnic and Kiki will be the picnic blanket for them, JJ doesn’t register until years later that this is a classic diversion tactic so that the overwhelming sound of her parents fighting downstairs doesn’t scare her. When Roslyn tells JJ that Kiki is a tent and they’re going camping outside for the night, JJ who was previously terrified when her, her mother, and her sister had to suddenly leave their beloved house to go to some dingy room where there are too many strangers and not enough beds for all of them, feels just a little bit better. When Roslyn tells her that Kiki will protect her from the dark and all the scary things in life, JJ naively believes her. Because despite the uncertainty that plagues their lives every single day, JJ knows one thing to be true: Roslyn is never wrong.

The older girl tells her so herself when JJ is a bit older, six or so, and she asks Roslyn how she knows everything will be okay. The two are huddled in the closet of their shared room and the bad man that isn’t their father that likes to hang around their mom is back again, smelling more and more like pungent alcohol by the minute. JJ is trying hard not to let herself make a noise because the last time the bad man her mama likes found them, she ended up getting slapped sharply across the cheek when she tries to stop him from taking Roslyn with him again. So, JJ is biting down hard on the same fist that clutches Kiki. Roslyn’s arms are wrapped around her in a tight embrace. The closet is dark and she can hear the bad man coming towards the room. 

“Everything will be okay,” Ros soothes, her voice barely above a whisper. She presses a teary kiss into JJ’s wavy blonde hair. 

“How do you know though?” She questions, burying her face even further into her older sister’s neck. 

“Cause I’m never wrong.” The older girl breathes, squeezing her tighter than before. JJ would cry out, but suddenly the closet door is being wrenched open with fumbling fingers and light floods the small space. A harsh, cruel hand grabs a handful of Roslyn’s beautiful wheat-gold hair and tugs her out of the embrace she has JJ wrapped in. The older girl cries out in pain and JJ almost reaches for her, but remembers that Roslyn told her not to react after last time.

“It’s okay if he takes me, I can handle it. Just let me go and you’ll be okay.” Her older sister told her after the first time it happens when JJ got hit for trying to fight him. After that, she follows her sister’s orders diligently. She doubts them in the back of her mind, but she knows Roslyn is never wrong. It pains her to hear the cries from the other end of their shared bedroom when the bad man finally leaves or passes out on the floor in the living room and Roslyn crawls miserably into her bed after an hour or so absence, so JJ will head over to the twin on the other side of the room and tuck herself into Roslyn’s side. She lays Kiki over both of them even though the small baby blanket barely covers anything. She knows her sister appreciates the comfort.

Things remain at a constant low for a year and a half. The bad man lives with them in their too-small apartment now and Roslyn cries more than she eats. JJ rarely sees her smile or go anywhere with her friends anymore. She mostly just sleeps or talks to JJ.

It’s after one of the many nights when the bad man has given her sister back (JJ has lost count at this point) when Roslyn is holding her close in bed and there are tears rolling down her face that she says something that JJ can unfortunately never forget. The words are burned into her brain. 

“I love you so much, JJ. I will never leave you no matter what,” the older girl sighs, deeply inhaling and exhaling as she tries to calm herself down. JJ doesn’t say anything. She’s a quiet kid, and besides, Roslyn has enough words for the both of them. “When I’m old enough I’m gonna get a job and we’re gonna go live on our own in a place where nobody can ever find us unless we want them to,” she sighs, a sob catching in her throat as she paints the picture of this fantasy home for just the two of them. “We’ll have a garden for me and you’ll have a puppy to play with, and I’ll even teach you how to play soccer if you want. Would you like that?” Her sister asks and JJ immediately nods. 

“Can Mama come too?” She asks shyly, removing her thumb from her mouth. At seven years old everyone tells her she’s too old to be sucking her thumb. Everyone except Roslyn. 

Her sister hesitates before answering. “I don’t think so. Mama’s-“ she tries to continue but the tears stop her. After a moment, she takes a shuddering breath and speaks again. “Mama’s really sick, she needs help. Once she gets better she can come.” The older girl admits and JJ nods solemnly. That seems to make sense to her. 

“I love you, JJ. Never, ever forget that.” She tells her and JJ whispers back a small “love you too, Ros.” Before she falls asleep, secure in her sister’s arms.

The next morning when she wakes, she is alone in Roslyn’s twin bed and there’s a blood-curdling scream coming from the bathroom. She hides under the covers for what feels like hours. Eventually, somebody comes into her room and gently shakes her shoulder. She startles at the unfamiliar touch and looks up into the eyes of a kind woman who she’s never seen before. 

“Hi, my name is Maya. What’s your name, sweetie?” The woman named Maya asks softly and JJ tells her as she grasps her Kiki in a tightly closed fist. 

“Where’s Roslyn?” She asks, her voice sounding small and unsure. She can hear shouting down the hall from the bad man and her mama, but that’s nothing out of the ordinary for them. The only thing different is that there’s more male voices in the house than usual, there’s a strange new woman in her bedroom, and her sister isn’t asleep by her side. 

Maya only sighs and doesn’t provide an answer. Instead she takes JJ by the hand and helps her get dressed for the day. Instead of going to school or the park, Maya takes her to a room with bright yellow walls and lets her sit down at a table and draw anything she wants while Maya asks some questions and she tries to answer as truthfully as possible.

She tells Maya everything she knows. That her mama is sick and needs help to get better and that’s why she has to have those needles with her. That the bad man takes Roslyn with him but that her sister never says what he does and always comes back crying. That whenever she would try to speak up or fight back, she’d get hit until a bruise formed. She tells her about the fighting and the yelling and the way that she gets free hot lunch at school because there’s never anything in the house to make sandwiches with like the other kids in her second grade class. 

Then, Maya sits her down and explains what is happening to her in words that a seven-year-old can understand.

When the realization that her sister is truly gone and can’t come back and see her again finally hits, JJ falls silent. Deathly silent. It’s not even that she doesn’t want to say anything, it’s that she physically can’t. It’s impossible for her to open her mouth and try to form a single sentence. She can only cry.

So, for eight long months, that’s what she does. It feels like she only exists to be sad, and she hates that all she does is either sit as still as a board and stare straight ahead or cry. On the day when Roslyn goes away and her mama and the bad man have to leave for a long time, Maya takes her back to the apartment to try and gather her things. At this stage in her life, Kiki is no more than a torn, stained, pink rag that is held together by a few threads. She tries to bring it with her, but Maya tells her that she can only take the things she needs to her new home. She tries to form the words to tell the woman that she needs her Kiki. That Roslyn said it would protect her and keep her safe, but she can only watch mutely through her cascade of tears as the woman tosses the unsalvageable remnant of her childhood into a trashcan. 

For a while, she is passed from house to house with no apparent pattern. If there are other kids in the home, they don’t like her because she doesn’t talk to them or she cries out in her sleep at night. The parents or parent rarely speak to her besides perfunctory pleasantries or, in some cases, harsh insults. She can never stay in one place for too long and before she knows it, her eighth birthday has passed by. She doesn’t even realize this fact until she’s dropped off at another home and Maya tells the man who lets them inside that she’s “just turned eight a few months ago”. JJ’s eyes go wide when she hears that. She didn’t even realize her birthday had come and gone because there was no Roslyn there to wake her up the morning of the big day with some homemade confectionary and a hug. 

The man reminds JJ too much of the bad man and when Maya turns to leave after a quick, emotionless embrace, she almost calls out to her to come back for her. 

But, she doesn’t. She doesn’t speak a word.

The man, Greg, shows her to her own room right across from a bathroom and then leaves her to her own devices and she can finally let out the breath she didn’t realize she was holding in around him. She doesn’t trust him, but she figures she’ll be gone within the month anyway. There’s no point in getting used to anything for long because it won’t stay that way. She knows the drill by now. 

So, she’s surprised when a face of an older looking boy appears in her doorframe willingly just a few minutes later. It’s rare that other kids in the homes she stays at will approach her on purpose and she looks around the bare room, searching for anything the boy could be looking for. But, evidently, he’s looking for her. 

The black-haired boy offers a shy smile and raises an eyebrow. “May I come in?” He asks softly and politely. His tone is so careful and kind that it takes JJ by complete shock. Nobody she’s met in all of the homes she’s been in has ever acted this way. She nods curtly and the older boy crosses the threshold into her solitary room where she sits criss-cross on the twin bed, the only furniture in the room. “My name is Aaron,” he introduces, holding out his hand for her to shake which she reluctantly accepts. “But you can call me Hotch if you want.” He offers and she involuntarily feels her lips tick up into a small smile. Hotch? That’s hardly a name, she thinks to herself.

The boy looks only a bit younger than Roslyn was before she went away for good. This fact grants JJ some solace.

So, for four or five hours, Hotch sits beside her. They switch between silence and him asking her some questions that she won’t answer or telling her about Derek, the other boy who lives here with them. He tells her that he’s almost 13, that Derek is almost 12, and when he asks her how old she is, she holds up 8 fingers proudly. He tells her that he’ll protect her no matter what and that he’ll always have her back. The words are so genuine and heartfelt that they remind her of Roslyn and her promises of a better life in a small house with a garden in the backyard. It warms her heart.

So maybe that’s why when Hotch finally stands from his sitting position right by her bed that she watches him go with attentive blue eyes. Maybe that’s why she waves slightly as he re-opens her door and begins to head back to his room. Maybe that’s why when he says “see you later, Jennifer.” she calls out to him and says “my name is JJ.” and he nods before giving a minuscule smile.

She likes when the otherwise serious boy smiles. It feels like a secret just made for the two of them. She doesn’t even realize that those are the first four words she’s spoken in almost nine months until much later on, but she doesn’t regret breaking her vow of silence.

Hotch, just like Roslyn and Kiki, will protect her, so she can trust him. She just knows it.

xxx

Their house, surprisingly doesn’t have a ton of rules.

Hotch tries to keep things neat and maintain the natural order of everything, but he rarely grows neurotic about insignificant details. He knows that everyone operates on their own schedule, more or less, and that it would be near impossible to try and corral five kids at all points of the day. So, there’s a chore chart in the bathroom that they cycle through, but for the most part the rules are simple:

1\. Keep your room/side of the room clean. Don’t make others clean your space for you.

2\. Make sure your laundry gets done on laundry day. (Nobody likes the smell of your socks, Derek)

3\. Spencer doesn’t exist to do your homework for you. If you need help, just ask.

4\. If something’s bothering you, tell somebody. You don’t have to solve it on your own. 

The rules are unspoken and informal, but everyone is well aware of their existence. It goes without saying that the first three are a little trivial but important nonetheless. Nobody seems to have any issue following the mandates about keeping their side of the room clean or not exploiting Spencer’s brain for homework help. However, they all struggle with number four. He doesn’t blame them either; it’s not exactly like he’s the poster child for healthy and open communication. But, he has a strong intuitive sense for when something is off and he knows when one of his siblings is hiding something.

Or when all five of his siblings are hiding something.

After Rossi drops him off from their shift at Costa Azul where he thankfully avoids anymore embarrassing run-ins with Haley, the new girl, he’s exhausted and dead on his feet. A double shift during a Saturday afternoon lunch and early dinner rush is nothing to scoff at and he takes comfort in the fact that all he has to do for the rest of the night is eat something quick for dinner and he’ll finally be able to crash for the next eight hours until he has to wake up, finish whatever homework he’s got, and head to work for a repeat of the whole vicious cycle.

Except for the fact that when he unlocks the front door and makes his way inside, still dressed in his stained work attire and non-slip kitchen shoes, he’s greeted with the feeling that something is off. Very off. More off than having to calm Derek down from a panic attack the other night. More off than stealing his foster father’s truck to go pick up Emily. 

Four of his five siblings are in the living room and a quick survey of those present tells him that JJ is nowhere to be found. Emily and Derek look concerned and immediately stop whatever whispered conversation they’re having when they notice Hotch walk in, which immediately tips him off that they’re hiding something. Penelope is seated on the far end of the couch, hugging the stuffed pink cat he and Derek had taken turns trying to win her at the local carnival last year. He knows that the pink cat is her comfort item, but beyond that he can tell she’s upset by the remnants of crying evident on her face. Spencer is silent. His book is open, but his eyes aren’t scanning the pages like he’s racing to the end and his hands merely rest on top of the novel instead of turning the pages with fierce velocity every few seconds.

Immediately, his mind turns to Greg. And it isn’t a pleasant thought.

“Where is she?” He demands forcefully, not bothering with the preliminary and obvious ‘what’s wrong?’. He knows they won’t tell him what’s wrong. Nobody ever follows rule number four. Rule number five might as well be “blatantly disregard rule number four to make Hotch worry more”.

Emily gestures silently towards the back patio. Through the sliding glass door he can see the young blonde sitting on the bare concrete, her hands idly toying with blades of dead grass before her. His heart lurches at the sight as he heads over towards the door. He’s never seen her so despondent.

“Hotch, maybe now isn’t the best-“ Derek tries to impede but Hotch isn’t listening. In an instant he’s sliding open the screen door and stepping out in the early evening air. The sun has only just begun its leisurely descent behind the horizon and he can hear the faint chirping of crickets in the air. JJ doesn’t even look up as he takes a seat beside her, not caring that he’s dirtying up his only pair of black work slacks even more as he takes a seat in the dust and grime that the unused patio has collected. Greg’s cigarette butts are scattered across the yard haphazardly and Hotch grimaces as he brushes the one resting by his right palm away before turning his full attention to JJ.

“Hey, what’s up?” He questions softly, a gentle tone usually only reserved for her and Spencer. On very rare occasions when the upbeat blonde gets upset, she tends to turn towards Emily or Penelope first for comfort. Hotch can understand that sentiment. Not only are they her sisters and can understand her on a level better than he could, he knows JJ sees Emily as a surrogate for the sister she lost years before any of them met her. She’s only ever revealed the details of her childhood once or twice, but every single time she has to relive the traumatic events of remembering waking up to find out that her only lifeline amongst a sea of abuse and uncertainty has killed herself, his heart aches for days afterwards. He could never imagine being so young and experiencing so much pain the way JJ has. 

The girl doesn’t answer and it’s reminiscent of the first time he met her when she was only eight years old and would follow him around like a blonde shadow. She pulls up another handful of dead grass absentmindedly before she lets it fall from her palm and float down aimlessly to the earth below. 

“Did Derek mess something up?” He jokes, a poor attempt at humor. JJ scoffs gently anyway and he considers that a bit of a success, or at least some sort of minimal progress. A breeze rustles the last summer leaves on the trees surrounding their depressing backyard and he can already see the minuscule piles of brown and orange dead leaves that will soon decorate the ground as autumn approaches. He knows the air will soon grow colder and everyone will need a new coat or pants or boots beyond their budget and he’ll inevitably have to sacrifice something of his own to make sure they all have enough this winter. He doesn’t want to sound resentful, but for once he just wishes that things could be easy. That they had a competent foster parent or that he and Emily didn’t need to work themselves to the bone just to put food on the table for all six of them. He doesn’t think that’s too much to ask for. 

“I broke a glass.” She mumbles miserable after a pregnant pause. He tears his gaze away from the unidentifiable stain of what could be pico de gallo on his work slacks as the girl finally speaks. He merely raises an eyebrow in question.

“Why?” He pries, trying not to seem upset. In reality, he’s more worried about the kid’s mental state than some dumb glass but he doesn’t want JJ to misconstrue his concern as anger over a single kitchen item so he keeps his voice as level as possible.

“I got mad, I guess,” she sighs, intentionally obfuscating a major piece of the story. He merely remains silent, encouraging her to continue. “I didn’t mean to, really. I didn’t even know what I was doing until I heard it shatter and Derek and Em had to pull me away.” She protests and the mental image Hotch processes drives a stake right through his heart. His frown deepens as he assesses the state of his youngest sister.

“Jayje, I don’t care about a glass. I care about you,” he asserts, kindly but firmly. “What happened that got you so upset?” He questions, knowing already that the answer is nothing good. To bring JJ, the peacemaking mediator of their family, to such an enraged state, he knows it has to be something serious.

Another pause. A handful of grass torn up from its roots. The blades floating back down. The crickets chirping an incessant melody in the breeze. The smell of cigarette smoke wafting over from their neighbor’s backyard.

“My mom called,” the girl admits, barely above a whisper. Her eyes are shut so tightly to stop any tears from leaking out and her right hand is curled into a tight fist. He holds his gasp in his throat, absolutely not expecting that to be the answer. “My mom called and told me that she was clean and out of jail and rehab or whatever,” she soldiers on, the memory of it clearly taking a toll on her fragile mental state. “She says she’s okay. She wants to see me. She says she wants to be a family again.” The last words are articulated through choked up tears and a small strangled noise escapes her throat before she finally gives into her emotional state and lets the tears pour out. Hotch doesn’t hesitate to place his much larger arm around her trembling shoulders. He feels her tense at first, but eventually she loosens up as the sobs rack her body. 

“I should be...happy, right? I should want her to be okay?” She asks rhetorically as the tears cascade down her small face. Hotch can’t help thinking about how terrifyingly young she is to have dealt with all of this already. At her age he was just barely entering the foster system, but she’s already seen so much. He pulls her a little tighter as she chokes on her tears, resting his chin atop her soft head. “I should want her back in my life, right?” She sobs again, and Hotch’s stomach lurches. He doesn’t even want to consider the option of letting his little sister go after all these years. He’s not convinced that she’ll even want to rekindle such a fragmented relationship, but he’s terrified at the sheer plausibility of it. He sighs into her hair before finally speaking.

“Forget about how you *think* you should feel,” he tells her, unsure of if she can even hear him from inside their embrace. “How do you feel right now?” He prods gently, hoping that something he says will at least get through to her.

She doesn’t answer. She only cries into her arms. All he can do is hold her tightly and let her know that no matter what, it’s going to be okay. 

Sometimes, that’s the only right thing to do in a situation.

xxx

The rest of the weekend doesn’t fare too well either.

He and Emily both work on Sunday which leaves Derek in charge. 

So, naturally, Penelope gets left in charge instead. 

Sunday night ends with him almost burning dinner, struggling through thirty pre-calc problems by flashlight with his brothers passed out in the same room, and barely falling asleep around 1:30am after triple-checking that he’s set his alarm for 6am sharp the next morning. It’s a restless sleep fraught with worry, same as the night prior. In addition to JJ’s dilemma, he’s still juggling trying to coax a confession out of Derek about his sudden secrecy, listening to Emily’s recent (and confusing) drama with her friend Elle from Friday night, and preparing his own proposals for the student government meeting discussing fundraising on Monday after school. When he wakes up bright and early Monday morning, it feels as if he’s barely gotten five minutes of sleep his entire life.

8am comes much too soon and before he knows it, he’s nodding off in Gideon’s class just a few minutes into the lecture on the significance of the golden torque. He startles awake in a less than subtle manner, alerting the entire class to his brief rest, eliciting a round of laughter from his classmates. Haley scarcely glances in his direction the entire period and by the fourth or fifth time she leans over to whisper something to Alexa Lisbon before giggling slightly, Hotch resolves that he’s officially off her radar for good. No girl who hangs around the rich, pretty, cheerleader type would ever glance his way, and he accepts this. It doesn’t mean it hurts any less when Rossi points this out as they depart Gideon’s classroom and make their way to study hall together. 

The rest of the morning passes in a similar manner to his usual routine, so that by the time his lunch period rolls around, he finds himself instinctively heading towards the crowded commons area with Rossi before he’s struck with the realization that he still has another detention period with Gideon left all the way across the school and has to circle back alone in order to reach the English teacher’s classroom. 

As he enters the familiar, empty classroom for the second time that day, he’s slightly surprised to find that the feeling of dread whenever he walks into the room is absent for once. He drops his backpack by a random desk before robotically heading over towards the bookshelves he was working on cleaning last time. He barely flinches when he hears the front door creak open on its rusted hinges, the heavy footsteps of his English teacher entering the room and heading straight for his desk.

“Aaron Hotchner? Awake while in my classroom? I don’t believe my eyes.” The older man jokes teasingly, referencing his earlier doze-off in class. Hotch scoffs at the joking accusation, still trying to move past the initial shock of hearing his completely orthodox and strict teacher try his hand at humor.

“Can you blame me? The pace Dave reads at could put anyone to sleep.” He shoots back sarcastically, poking fun at his friend’s tendency to drone on monotonously when called upon to read a passage in class. Hotch has to smother his own grin when he sees the smile on Gideon’s face. 

“Just don’t let it happen again,” his teacher warns lightly, a stark contrast to his usual in-class demeanor of unrelenting stringency. “How did that book work out for you?” The man asks, settling down at his desk with a Tupperware full of some salad mix and croutons. Hotch stops suddenly in the middle of wiping down one of the top shelves, biting his cheek slightly. Shit. The book. The Shakespeare volume he didn’t even have a second to glance at for the entire weekend amidst all the unprecedented drama and chaos that seemed to be a constant presence in his life. He had left the beautiful book of sonnets by his bed, completely neglecting to place it in his backpack to return to Gideon. 

“Sir, I’m sorry, I completely forgot it. I didn’t even get to read it or anything, but I meant to. I just happened to leave it by my bed but I *swear* I can bring it back in tomorrow. I honestly didn’t mean to-“ he’s apologizing and explaining himself in a panicked frenzy when his English teacher, chewing thoughtfully on a mouthful of salad, pauses and holds up a singular hand in order to silence Hotch. He takes a moment to swallow his food before turning in his swivel chair to face the boy.

“Aaron, it’s fine. I lent you the book as a reference and to learn something. There’s no deadline for getting it back to me,” The man assures and Hotch lets out a breath of relief he wasn’t aware he was holding in. He’s just about to turn back to wiping off the bookshelves when an unprecedented question stops him. “Rough weekend?” The man prompts simply. The seemingly innocent query almost makes him laugh. 

“You have no idea,” He scoffs, grimacing slightly as he remembers the events of the last few days and all the drama he’s had to endure. He never realized that two days off school could be more stressful than an entire exam week put together. “How could you tell?” He asks absentmindedly, more in the interest of trying to make conversation than actual intrigue. He scrubs a damp paper towel with surface cleaner across another shelf.

“Oh, just the usual. Dark circles under your eyes, nervous stance, distracted in class. All indicators of a student who’s working themselves overtime in all aspects of life in order to try and retain some semblance of control where they otherwise feel powerless because of larger factors outside of their control.” Gideon drones nonchalantly, stabbing his fork into the container of salad on his desk. Hotch halts his cleaning of the bookshelf at once, whipping around to face his teacher with an incredulous look. It feels like the man is literally opening a page into his mind, something Hotch is not entirely fond of. “How did I know all that?” Gideon asks rhetorically, taking the words directly from his mouth. Hotch merely stares, trying not to let his glare show. “It’s all in the behavior, Aaron. You think you close yourself off the rest of the world relatively well, but people who have been in your shoes know better than that.” He explains calmly and Hotch feels a sudden surge of anger course throughout his veins. 

“Oh yeah? How could you possibly know what I’m going through?” He snaps, rolling his eyes. He doesn’t appreciate being treated like some sort of victim and his scowl only grows with his inquiry. He knows for a fact his English teacher could never put himself in his shoes. For all the crap he spouts about character analysis and motivation and ‘behavior’, the man doesn’t know what it feels like to be the sole provider for his family at age 16 and a half. 

“It doesn’t take a genius to see the pressure you force upon yourself.” Is the infuriatingly calm response he receives. Hotch clenches his fist at the accusation.

“I don’t force myself to do anything. And I don’t appreciate being psychoanalyzed.” He defends vehemently, all pleasant feelings about his English teacher that had been formed suddenly evaporating without a trace. But, the man’s adamant expression doesn’t falter at Hotch’s bluntness. 

“Not everything is an attack on your personal character.” He clarifies, leaning forward a bit more in his chair. Hotch has the urge to scoff at the audacity of that statement.

“Yeah? Well this sure feels like it is.” He points out flippantly, knowing that his devolving and harsh language is a clear measure of his exasperation with the argument, but doesn’t budge from his pre-established position. 

Gideon merely sighs, his dark eyes swimming with what looks like a combination of concern and hesitation. 

“Then maybe you’re misinterpreting what I’m saying,” he observed tentatively, treading very carefully. Hotch doesn’t react, doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction of reading his body language. “I have a tremendous amount of respect for what you’re doing, but that shouldn’t come as a surprise to you,” his teacher comments and Hotch restrains himself from laughing. The first time Gideon has spoken to him kindly was on Friday for about ten minutes and this ‘shouldn’t come as a surprise to him’? He used to think he was the most emotionally stunted person on the planet, but clearly Jason Gideon has him beat in that department. “I know you’re capable of a lot more than you give yourself credit for, especially your leadership skills. You work yourself past the extreme limits any high school junior needs to go to and I commend you for that, but have you ever taken a moment to ask yourself what you plan to do for yourself rather than others?” Hotch glances up at that, the inquiry breaking his intense fury. 

“I’m not sure what you mean by that.” He deadpans. He doesn’t need to elaborate on which part he doesn’t understand, Gideon seems to comprehend his confusion.

“Aaron, I understand that your life doesn’t come with a multitude of luxuries, but you have to grant yourself one pardon every now and again or you won’t make it past senior year at the rate you’re going.” The man advises coolly. Hotch bites back a sarcastic response, instead opting to match the same infuriating level of nonchalance that Gideon speaks with. 

“With all due respect, *sir*,” he begins with anything but respect in his tone. “I know how the next five years of my life look. I don’t need to take a moment and rework everything because of some selfish whim.” He asserts coldly. He’s not exactly sure of what Gideon is insinuating with this impromptu analysis of his life but he’s not exactly a fan of it. 

His teacher is unfazed by his blunt response. He stands from behind his desk, waiting to speak until he knows he has Aaron’s full attention.

“Understanding that you are a person with needs is not selfish,” his words are emphasized with a certain level of intensity and Hotch is a little shocked at the overly serious turn the conversation has taken. As he speaks, he tries to insert as much meaning into his words as possible and Hotch knows this is because it’s a message he seemingly needs to hear. “It’s logical. It’s human. It’s why I have my students study the nature of characters in such depth. At the end of the day, we are just trying to comprehend ourselves enough to get by. You can’t push yourself to the brink of exhaustion everyday for the rest of your life and rationally expect to be alright by the end of that.” He lectures, folding his interlocked hands atop his desk. Aaron’s posture sinks a bit as he hears these words. He knows, deep inside, that Gideon is right. If this past week has been any indication, he knows that he logically cannot expect to operate under such intense conditions and still make it out unscathed. His plan, to him, has always seemed full-proof; but the criticism coming from such a heartfelt and logic-driven place drives him to question everything.

And that terrifies him.

“I-I can’t slow down like everyone else and try to enjoy life. I have people depending on me and what I do directly affects them,” he explains, stammering as he tries to hold his ground. The moral gray area he constantly treads in order to live his life is an incessant reminder of his fallible nature and the fact that he’ll never be good enough for anyone. “Even if I wanted to, which I don’t, I can’t just try and make time for myself. That time doesn’t exist for me.” He admits, suddenly feeling more exhausted than he had that morning when he nodded off in class. 

Gideon gives a silent nod of understanding, seemingly lost in his own thoughts as he processes Hotch’s painfully honest answer. It’s a prolonged and tension-filled moment before the man speaks again.

“You are a bright and dedicated young man, Aaron. I know you know that by now considering how many times you’ve been told so by the faculty here,” his teacher begins and Aaron bites his lip as he nods in agreement at the assessment. It’s true- Vice President of student government, 4.0 GPA, founder of mock trial club; none of his achievements are anything to scoff at. “You don’t need reassurance of this fact, but you do seem to need a reminder that you can only do so much if you extend yourself out in all directions trying to please everyone. It’s simply not possible,” the older man advises, Hotch feeling the fight from earlier physically leave his figure. He knows Gideon is correct, it just hurts to accept this fact. “You have to let yourself slip up from time to time without internally degrading yourself for it to the point of no return. Do you understand?” The man stresses, his gaze unwavering. Hotch feels himself surrender. He struggles with accepting the idea that he will never be perfect, not even in the eyes of his siblings. It’s a losing battle that will destroy him eventually if he chooses to pursue it.

So, he relents.

“I do, sir.” He sighs, the words leaving his body by their own volition. 

“Please,” Gideon scoffs, finally electing to drop his deathly-serious countenance. “Quit it with the ‘sirs’, you know I hate that,” he implores with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Just promise me you’ll try and keep in mind that you don’t need to be invincible to help others.” He finally concludes, the syntax of his request slightly confusing to Hotch. A promise seems to him something so juvenile and trivial. He doesn’t even really know what that constitutes and whether or not he can abide by the unspoken terms of agreement in that context. But, he doesn’t question it. Since their initial bonding during the week prior Hotch has been slightly more open to humor the whims of his surprisingly personable English teacher. Maybe he can try to understand a promise as well.

“I promise, s-,” He begins, but cuts himself off when he almost addresses Gideon by the dreaded ‘sir’. “Yes, I promise.” He chuckles at his own actions. He combs a hand through his dark mop of hair, brushing the few lingering strands out of his face. Gideon smiles weakly.

“Good,” The man resolves. “And if you ever need somewhere to spend your lunch period or to have a conversation unrelated to...whatever you and David Rossi always seem to be talking about...you’re always welcome in here,” he jokes, earning a genuine laugh from Hotch. He figured Gideon would probably faint if he heard the way Rossi spoke outside of a classroom setting. “As you can see, nobody’s exactly banging down my door to see me everyday.” He quips with a touch of self-deprecating humor. 

Hotch feels a smirk make its way on his face. “Well, y’know I’m pretty sure Strauss is usually free around this hour...” his voice trails off with unspoken innuendo at the suggestion and he takes some delight in watching the way Gideon tenses and his expression falls at the insinuation. He’s not the only one in the room who’s skilled at reading behavior. 

“I believe I’d rather take my lunch with roadkill if we’re being honest.” Gideon deadpans. After a moment, both manage to laugh at the insane proposition. It feels easy, Hotch decides, to have a conversation with the man who he purely despised a week prior. This admission shocks him, but he tries not to let that show as he turns back to the bookshelf and resumed cleaning despite the fact that his detention sentence has basically come to a close. He realizes with a pang of what can only be identified as regret that these friendly conversations have come to a close now that he won’t be forced to spend thirty extra minutes a day with the man. Unless, of course, he does decide to take him up on his offer. 

But, that would be crazy, right? 

The answer to his hypothetical question does not come to him immediately. Doesn’t even come to him the next day in class when they honors English 11 class struggles through analytic interpretations of Beowulf and Grendel. But, when he shows up for the third lunch period in a row at Gideon’s door immediately commencing the end of fourth period later that morning, he seems to have found his answer. He placates Rossi with a falsehood about receiving yet another lunch detention for falling asleep in class the morning prior, but knows that he’s doing this completely on his own terms because, appearances be damned, he actually seems to find Gideon’s company pleasant. He likes the inherent validation he gets from their conversations, and more so, he likes having somebody to talk to on an intellectual and emotional level. 

Its ironic, he figures, that he’s somehow sought out the only person on the face of planet more closed-off and introverted than him and derived some sort of unlikely friendship. But, everything else in his life up to this point has been entirely unconventional. Why switch things up? 

xxx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! if you enjoyed, leave a comment down below. also i just posted a new story about Reid which will hopefully be updated tomorrow. thanks again for reading!


	10. you must be out of your head if you think that this ever could be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took so long!!!! but i finally finished lol. next chapter will hopefully be up soon along with chapter two for my other CM story. thanks for reading, hope u guys enjoy!!!
> 
> Disclaimer: aspects of this work bear similarities to the separate publication “Patron Saint of Lost Causes”. the author of this work attributes the content in this chapter to the correct source (@themetaphorgirl). Publication of this work is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not replace the intellectual property of the above source. This work is intended for personal, non-commercial use only and the author attributes subsequently reproduced or reconstructed concepts to the original source, all rights reserved.

“I don’t even know what I’m doing here.”

It’s a Thursday afternoon immediately following the final bell and Hotch is glancing anxiously at the analog clock hanging on the wall in the secluded hallway one of his younger sisters has forced him into. 

Well, forced is a strong word. More like begged until he finally gave in and followed her to the theatre teacher’s classroom so Penelope could sign her name on the audition list for the school play they’re currently waiting for the theatre teacher to post on her door. He’s genuinely shocked and a touch confused at just how many other students seem to be circling around the hallway like a pack of hungry sharks waiting to feed. He groans imperceptibly as he watches the clock agonizingly change from 3:01 to 3:02 pm, knowing Rossi is probably heading to his car in the student parking lot right now waiting for Hotch to show so they can get to work by 3:30.

“Please, Hotch, just wait with me for like one minute. I don’t wanna be alone.” Penelope begs, sticking out her lower lip in a childish pout, as if this rhetoric will somehow convince him to relent. Of course, it does, but that’s besides the point.

“Fine, but this isn’t becoming a regular thing. I can’t cause myself and Rossi to be late because of your play practices.” He asserts impatiently, crossing his arms over his chest. The theatre teacher’s door remains aggravatingly shut with no sign of the list Penelope is eagerly awaiting and he stifles a snarky comment. He can somehow empathize with his younger sister, however. He also wouldn’t want to be left alone amidst a sea of terrifyingly extroverted theatre kids either.

“It’s *musical rehearsal*, Hotch, and I’m not even in yet. I don’t even know if I’ll get in.” She corrects, anxiously tapping her foot on the linoleum tile. The bright pink frames of her glasses slip down her nose a bit and she pushes them back up with an irritated sigh. The clock on the wall mockingly reads 3:03pm as the door finally opens a crack and a faculty member that Hotch doesn’t recognize steps out beaming before tacking the empty list entitled “Pirates of Penzance Auditions” to her door before heading back inside the safety of her classroom, probably to avoid getting mobbed by the hordes of eager theatre kids already shouting and pushing their way to the front of the nonexistent line to sign their names.

“What is this show even about anyway?” He grumbles as he receives a shove from some puny freshman that couldn’t be any taller than Spencer. He has to restrain himself from giving the younger girl his signature “homicide glare” as Emily and Derek call it. 

Penelope opens her mouth to answer his question, but then a small smile appears on the corners of her sparkly glossed lips and he furrows his brow in confusion. 

Then, all at once, he feels a tap on his right shoulder and everything seems to make sense.

“Sorry, excuse me.” 

Her voice lilts with the melody and timbre of an angel. He recognizes it’s her without even need to see her face, but he doesn’t complain anyway when he turns around just slightly and catches a glimpse of naturally blonde locks and the hypnotic sapphire eyes that sparkle as she talks. He can feel his tongue turn to lead in his mouth and he gently steps aside to let her pass. She’s almost completely out of range when he feels a sharp jab of an elbow in his side and he doesn’t need to look down at his younger sister before he acts. 

“Uh, um, hey!” He calls, unable to moderate his volume and ends up attracting the unwanted attention of a few other students in the crowded hallway. Luckily, he also catches the gaze of Haley Brooks right as he pulls out a ballpoint pen to sign her name with on the audition list. She gently lowers her hand and turns back around to face him and he just *knows* that his face is growing an embarrassingly obvious shade of tomato red. Oh Jesus, he really didn’t think this through at all. 

“Hi! Aaron, right?” She calls back brightly, taking a tentative step away from the list only to have her spot voraciously snatched up by some other frenzied theatre kid standing close by. He nods dumbly, but then realizes that to keep a conversation going he probably has to talk as well even though he feels like he might pass out right then and there.

“Y-Yeah. That’s me. Aaron. My name.” He stammers anxiously. Mentally facepalming as Haley obviously suppresses a light giggle, he tries to push past his momentary setback. “Uh, Haley, right?” He asks politely, although he definitely doesn’t need an answer to that one. He’s done his research. 

“Yeah, Haley,” she nods with a gentle laugh, encouraging him to loosen up a little when he sees that maybe it isn’t entirely impossible to talk to her. “Are you thinking of auditioning?” She asks politely, gesturing towards the quickly growing list of potential auditioners. 

He vaguely hears Penelope snort in a mocking laugh from his left side but ignores her. “Um, I-I might, yeah,” he lies, wiping his unfortunately sweaty palms on his jeans. He eyes the list again with growing apprehension. “I really like Pirates of the Caribbean, it’s a good play.” He deadpans.

“Musical!” Penelope hisses.

“Musical.” He immediately corrects himself, not entirely understanding when Haley smothers her laughter by bringing a hand up to her mouth. She uncaps her pen and signs her name in a neat scrawl on one of the remaining lines.

“It’s ‘Pirates of Penzance’, but close enough,” she giggles and Hotch swears his legs turn to jelly at the sound. “It’s not my favorite, but beggars can’t be choosers, y’know?” She quips, returning her pen to her pants pocket quickly and taking another step away from the list. Away from the list and even closer towards Hotch. He just really hopes she can’t tell how much he’s perspiring under the harsh fluorescent lighting of the school hallway.

“What is your favorite? Play, I mean.” He clarifies, hoping to strike up some sort of lasting conversation even though he has entirely no interest in anything theatre related. Correct: *had* no interest in anything theatre related. Now that he’s aware that Haley seems interested by it, all of a sudden the theatre doesn’t seem so bad.

“Musical!” Penelope corrects again with a harsh whisper and he turns to face her.

“Penelope don’t you have a list to sign or something?” He asserts firmly, gesturing towards the door. The crowd begins to dissipate around them slightly now that most kids have had a chance to sign their names. Penelope merely rolls her eyes and walks forward to use a pink pen with a fluffy feather topper to sign her name with a heart at the end. He turns back to face Haley who seems to still be smothering her burgeoning laughter. “Sorry about her.” He apologizes, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly with a nervous chuckle.

“That’s okay, I’ve gotta get going, my friends are waiting for me,” she responds brightly, her dazzling smile enough to power ten lightbulbs. He feels a pang of regret as she reveals she has to leave, wishing he could just spare a few more moments with her. “But I hope you audition! I think you’d make a great Pirate King.” She adds kindly and Hotch can tell that she means it. He can tell right away that she’s more than all the other girls in their school. Unlike them, Haley is genuine and understanding in her compliments and seems not to mind that every time they’ve come in contact with each other, he makes a massive fool out of himself. He can’t lie; he likes that a lot. He likes her a lot.

He watches with a hint of remorse as she turns a corner and disappears down the halls, the only lingering remnants of her being her neat cursive signature on the audition list. Penelope reappears at his side, a knowing grin plastered on her face.

“Did you hear that?” He breathes, feeling so light that he could walk on a cloud. His head is still spinning from the interaction, brief as it may be. It was something.

“Yes, I was right here, remember?” Penelope teases, beginning to forcefully lead him away from the hallway and towards the front of the school. It takes him longer than he’d care to admit to realize that he had to walk in order to keep moving, but he couldn’t help it. Suddenly, his brain was outside the rest of his body, working as it’s own entity. 

“Pirate King,” he mumbles, trying to ignore the small smile that creeps up on his face as they walk. “She thinks I’d be a good....” His voice trails off with uncertainty. “What? What does that even mean?” He questions, turning to Penelope desperately. Is that even a good thing?

“Well don’t look at me!” She laughs loudly, clearly taking amusement in his confusion. 

As the trance begins to evaporate and he allows the feeling to return to the rest of his body, he stumbles a bit. Oh shit. If he’s really going to pursue this, he’s got to have some sort of plan in action.

“Penelope, you have to help me,” he begs, turning to his younger sister with unabashed desperation in his eyes. “I’ve got to audition for this play.” He admits, his throat dry from shock as the words leave his body. 

“Musical!” She corrects for the third time and Hotch groans.

“Whatever!” He responds adamantly, not caring about the correct terminology at the moment. “Will you help me?” He asks. After a prolonged moment, Penelope merely beams.

“Don’t worry Hotch, I’ll have you singing better than Ramin Karimloo in the 25th anniversary concert of Les Miserables in no time.” She reassures and Hotch can only furrow his brow in confusion at her response. Clearly, he has a lot to learn in a very short amount of time.

“I have...no idea what that means.” He admits as they finally reach the front of the school where he can already spot Rossi’s car in the parking lot.

“Oh, you will. You definitely will.” Penelope assures him mischievously and he swallows dryly.

What has he gotten himself into?

xxx

Life without Elle, Emily decides, is lonely.

It wasn’t like her week was off to a particularly auspicious start in the first place. After heading into work on Sunday afternoon she had gotten the news that Elle had called off, clearly feigning illness, and Emily had to work her shift with the owner’s son who takes it upon himself to criticize her mopping skills while just standing around staring down at his phone their entire shift, leaving Emily to handle all the transactions and customer complaints. 

Monday doesn’t fare any better and by the time Emily reaches second period, Elle is present and healthy, but clearly ignoring her. She has to hand it to her best friend: the girl is even more stubborn than she is when it comes to the dreaded silent treatment, but that realization doesn’t mean the cold shoulder hurts any less. Emily knows she can triumph in a stalemate silent treatment with anyone, but the major flaw in the situation is that Elle has other friends. Emily doesn’t. 

Having grown up constantly moving around and being forced from elementary school to elementary school, Emily has discovered not to grow too attached to anybody. The emotional walls she’s constructed for herself are nearly impenetrable, save for a few select people. However, when one of those few people starts to ignore you, the walls begin to feel a lot more suffocating rather than protective. Her sealed-off demeanor and cold disposition haven’t exactly made her first choice on anybody’s team, so for the entirety of that week she flies solo. 

Well, mostly solo.

Sitting by herself at lunch is a little too depressing for her tastes, but she doesn’t share the same lunch period as Penelope, Spencer, and Derek. She resolves to moping at Hotch and Rossi’s usual table surrounded by a few of the kids she recognizes only from Hotch’s mock trial club, but Hotch is still serving the same detention that she had last last week after school. Even after Hotch’s original detention sentence had ended on Monday, he ends up claiming he’s gotten it extended for falling asleep in class that morning. Emily isn’t sure if she believes him but doesn’t press the issue. So, she’s left alone at lunch with Rossi for the week. 

Which is far from an ideal situation.

It’s Thursday at lunch and she’s right about to bite into her slice of pizza dipped in ranch when Rossi, boisterous as ever, makes a joking comment about whether or not Vice Principal Strauss is a MILF and she has to excuse herself. She gets enough horny teenager talk from Derek at home, she definitely does not need to hear it from her brother’s best friend in regards to their vice principal. 

So, by the time Friday rolls around and she finds herself in quiet solitude in every single class, she’s feeling more than hopeless that her friendship with Elle will ever be mended. 

It’s not that she doesn’t want to make amends and just move forward; it’s that she physically can’t bring herself to do so. The memories of the party are still fresh in her mind and she can sense every moment like it’s a familiar book she’s read a thousand times before. It’s impossible to drive the scent of Elle’s matte lipstick on her lips out of her mind. She can’t seem to brush away the feeling of Elle’s hand clutching the nape of her neck, holding on for dear life as they seemed to leave their bodies for a few blissful seconds. She can’t imagine lying in bed at night and not remembering how tingly her fingertips got and how her heart raced with a mix of adrenaline and shock at what she had just done. What they had done together. She doesn’t want to put these feelings behind her and lock them away to be stifled and suffocated in some proverbial chest of emotions she’s sealed herself off from. Emily isn’t prone to want to feel things, so she knows there must be something special about this time.

But on the flip side, there’s the apprehension of it all. There’s the paralyzing fear of admitting to Elle that she actually liked what happened and being laughed at cruelly. There’s the chance that the girl will brush her off flippantly, continuing to ignore her for the rest of their lives and Emily will be relegated to hanging out with Rossi for the remainder of her high school career. There’s the idea of longing for someone who can never want you back the same way and torturing herself with stolen glances and flushed cheeks and racing hearts whenever they get in close proximity of each other again. 

Emily has never felt this way about anyone in her life, not even Mick Rawson. It’s all incredibly confounding and confusing. Even the thought of the situation makes her heart ache and the dull throbbing in her stomach only grows whenever she sees Elle laughing happily with some other upstanding member of the student body. She misses that laugh and the way her nose scrunched up when she found something particularly hilarious. She wants to be the one making the jokes that her best friend is engaging with, not some random girl from student government who probably doesn’t even know what Elle’s favorite food is. (Which, for the record, has always been sushi). 

It’s hard not to miss such a bright, exuberant force in her life. Even putting aside the events of last Friday evening, at the very core of it all, Emily just wants her best friend back. The sheer guilt that hits her like a 50-foot wave whenever she pictures her running out on Elle with no explanation after one of the most defining moments of their lives is overwhelming, and she knows that despite how she feels, she still has to apologize. And return the clothes and shoes she borrowed. 

But the monotony of school drags on and she scarcely even catches a clandestine glimpse of the more popular girl, let alone gets a chance to talk to her. She’s considering even dipping into her monthly phone card to use her emergency cell to text the other girl but decides against it that afternoon when Hotch tells her not to. Unsurprisingly, out of all her siblings, she’s found that the best and most relevant advice on the subject comes from Hotch. She doesn’t feel like she has to censor or edit anything she tells him, so he gets the full version of the story. He doesn’t seem upset by her actions which grants her a momentary solace as well, diminishing her fear of being mocked or even rejected by her own brother. 

Although, that in itself brings a multitude of issues. They’re working together in the cramped kitchen to prepare dinner for five that evening before they all head out to attend Derek’s first game. Rossi was supposed to come over and hang out with Hotch too, but when Emily revealed to him that she wanted to talk that afternoon, he immediately cancelled the invite and let Rossi know they could hang out some other time. It’s just when she’s chopping up a tomato to add to the salad she’s making does Hotch actually ask the dreaded question she’s been silently praying he would avoid. 

“So do you think you’re...? I mean, that you could be- well-?” He stammers out and Emily cracks a minuscule smile at his timidness. Hotch doesn’t get nervous so this is kind of a rare sight.

“Yes, Hotch, I’m a raging lesbian. Happy?” She shoots back sarcastically, taking immense pleasure in the deep red blush that spreads across her brother’s face as she teases him lightly. She’s only seen him that flustered when Haley Brooks is around. She sighs, relenting a bit on her playful mockery of her brother. “No, I-I’m not sure, okay? I don’t know and I don’t want to label anything just because of one drunken kiss.” She shrugs honestly, keeping her voice pitched low so that Spencer, JJ, and Penelope don’t hear her more emotionally vulnerable answer. It’s not like they’re within earshot or anything, but Emily doesn’t trust her sisters (or Spence for that matter) when it comes to privacy. 

But deep down, there’s a part of her that has to disagree. There’s a part that tells her that she may not want to label things, but that she knows damn well that it wasn’t just one drunken kiss. Not only was it her first kiss, it was most likely going to be the kiss she fixated on for the rest of her life. The way that Elle made her feel...she *knew* that this was the way she was supposed to feel about boys her whole life, but just couldn’t bring herself to do so. As soon as Elle’s soft, pink lips aligned with hers in the dimly lit bathroom, the scent of rum and vodka on their breaths and the shape of her body fitting so perfectly against her own like a puzzle piece- Emily knew that she couldn’t just switch back to staring at the back of Mick Rawson’s head in Economics. It just wouldn’t feel as right as it does staring longingly into Elle’s mocha-brown eyes.

Derek’s game is at the high school varsity level, so it takes place a bit later than any of JJ’s games will. Hotch and Penelope end up heading to JJ’s game right after an early dinner and Emily offers to take Spencer to the high school to watch Derek. Hotch, Penelope, and JJ would head over later to meet them, estimating that they would arrive a little after the start of the third quarter. Emily, who despised football unless she could recognize her younger brother on the field and cheer for him, would usually offer to take JJ to her game, but didn’t want to risk the opportunity of running into Elle at the game. She just to happen to subtly overhear a conversation between Haley, Alexa, and Elle in class where her best friend had revealed that she would be in attendance at the game that evening. So, Emily naturally volunteered to walk Spencer to the high school and sit amidst hundreds of eager high school football fanatics waiting for the first game of the season to begin. 

The marching band is warming up in a cacophony of dissonance and Spencer is rattling off about something or other when she spots her. Haley and Elle are sitting so close together their shoulders are touching and they’re talking animatedly, just like old friends would. She feels a pang of unrelenting jealousy at the sight and wants nothing more in that moment than to punch Haley Brooks right in her perfect, stupid nose. 

“Look! Look! There’s Derek! Number 16!” Spencer cries, unabashed excitement so evident that it makes Emily beam. From the metal bleachers, she can see the sturdy frame of her younger brother against a late dusky sunset on the massive field. She sucks in a breath, noticing that even with his shoulder pads and helmet, he looks so young compared to the other boys on his team. It’s a sense of pride for Derek, being the youngest on the starting team, much in the same way that it was impressive for someone as young as Spencer to be a sophomore in high school. She splits her attention between watching the Madison Heights Falcons run into a pristine formation and keeping an eye on the bleacher seat three rows below them where she can see Elle clearly.

*’Just turn around, just turn around.’* she wills silently at the back of the other girl’s head. But she doesn’t. For two whole quarters of what seems to be a riveting football game based off the crowd’s clamor and responses, Elle stares straight ahead at the cheerleaders on the sidelines or converses with Haley. Emily finds herself alternating between gnawing on the inside of her cheek and her bottom lip, growing more and more anxiety-ridden by the second. As halftime approaches, part of her wishes she had the strength to make the trek down the bleachers and finally confront the girl, ending the absolutely devastating silent treatment she’s received for the past week. She’s almost bitten her lip enough to break the skin as she watches the hordes of subpar high school cheerleaders make their way into the center of the turf for halftime when Spencer interrupts her inner tirade of self-doubt and loathing.

“We can go sit by Elle if you want.” The small voice of her youngest brother proposes suddenly. She’s finally able to tear her gaze away from the back of her best friend’s head when she hears the seemingly naive offer. She glances around their spot on the crowded bleachers feverishly, searching for anyone who would possibly overhear their conversation.

“What? What are you talking about?” She attempts to brush off nonchalantly, trying not to let her repressed and embarrassing pining.

“You’ve been staring at Elle the whole game, you didn’t even say anything when Derek made that last touchdown,” Spencer points out accusingly and her mouth twists into an uncomfortable frown at her own actions. She was so preoccupied with trying to telepathically convince her best friend to talk to her again that she had completely missed her brother’s achievements. “I was just saying we could go sit by her if you wanted.” Spencer offers with an innocent shrug. Emily could only smile sadly.

“That’s okay, Spence. I’m sorry, I’ll pay more attention to the game during the next quarter.” She admits, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her left ear. Intending to steal one last look at the girl, she diverts her attention back to the bleacher rows below them and feels her heart leap at the sight of Emily and Haley moving from their spots. She feels her throat start to close up as if she were having some sort of allergic reaction to the sight. A bolt of apprehension courses down her spine as she considers the possibility that Elle could be moving specifically to talk to her, but the more realistic answer comes to light as she sees the pair moving towards the concessions stand located between their set of bleachers and the next. 

*’It’s now or never, Em. You have to do this.’* she muses to herself, suddenly so determined that she can feel her heart thudding out of her rib cage. 

“Hey, did you know that the first football huddle wasn’t even implement until the 1890’s when-“ 

“Hey Spence,” Emily cuts off, her gaze following the image of the two other girls as far as possible until they disappeared from her line of sight. “Want me to go get you a soda?” She offers, already moving forward on the cold metal seat. 

“Actually I-“ He begins, but Emily is so distracted by the prospect of finally getting to talk to Elle that she barely hears him.

“Perfect, I’ll be right back, okay?” She murmurs, squeezing her youngest brother’s shoulder comfortingly as she stands from the bleachers, finally able to stretch her legs. She nearly trips as she makes her way down the multiple flights of metal stairs until her worn sneakers make contact with the field below. She takes a few long strides to the small concessions stand being flocked by a few antsy parents and students and immediately spots Haley’s blonde beach waves and Elle’s short texturized bob. 

All of a sudden she can no longer breathe.

She feels the fear regarding the precarious situation hold her in its viselike grip like a spiteful python, physically preventing her from just walking up and starting a dialogue. Her fingers feel frozen and she belatedly realizes that she’s just standing there like a dunce in the middle of the swarm of spectators when somebody struts by and accidentally bumps into her shoulder. She barely recognizes their flippant “sorry!” as she stumbles a bit, finally managing to catch her breath. 

She doesn’t register that it’s her body walking up to the other girls or that it’s her hand that reaches out and taps Elle lightly on the shoulder. The other girl whips around, mid-laugh as Haley says something that Emily can’t hear over the blood rushing through her ears. As soon as she sees Elle’s shocked expression, Emily knows she’s made a mistake. But, she there’s no turning back now. Even if she feels suspiciously similar to how she did just a week prior when she accidentally spilled her guts all over Mick Rawson’s shoes.

She blinks once. Twice. Elle merely stares back, her emotional state inconclusive. Her deep brown eyes are as wide as a galaxy and Emily feels as though she could fall into them forever like a cavernous black hole. Her perfectly drawn brows are raised inquisitively, a perpetual question lingering on her lips. Emily’s eyes stray to her lips, imagining how it felt just last week to feel them against her own. She craves that sensation so much that she doesn’t even realize how long she’s been staring until Elle’s lips begin to move to speak.

“Uh, hey?” 

The muttered monosyllabic response pulls her from her fluttery trance and she blinks again, grounding herself in reality. 

“Hey,” she barely whispers, hoping her nervous response is somewhat audible amidst the clamor that surrounds them. “Um, do you wanna...go someplace else? To talk, I mean?” She clarifies with an awkward clearing of her throat. Her palms begin to sweat uncontrollably and she hurriedly stuffs them in the pockets of her jeans. 

“Yeah, sure,” Elle gives a reluctant nod and Emily already feels a massive weight leave her shoulders at the acceptance. The girl turns to face the blonde beside her that Emily has only now just realized is still staring at the two of them like a fascinating nature interaction. “Haley, can you grab me a soda please?” She requests and Haley nods diligently, sparing Emily a small smile that makes Emily feel almost remorseful about cursing her name under her breath for the past week whenever she saw her with Elle.

The two leave the crowded concessions stand in favor of a more isolated spot behind the bleachers, which coincidentally, just so happens to be the place where they used to hide out during gym class together to avoid running the mile. Emily manages to quirk a smile at this but it drops when she realizes that Elle may not even remember such an insignificant detail. It feels as though there’s a mile-wide canyon between them after the events of the past week, whereas there used to be nothing that could separate them. The thought of that alone makes Emily’s heart hurt.

She takes a steadying inhale, preparing to speak. It’s now or never.

“Hi.” She sighs succinctly.

“Hey.” Elle shoots back, a very minuscule hint of a smile at their brevity on her face. The sight managed to calm Emily’s trembling nerves just a bit.

“Look I just wanted to s-“

“I think that w-“

They both end up trying to start their own individual sentence but cut each other off in the middle, ending a slight, polite laugh at each other’s actions. It feels strangely foreign though, much too different from the hysterical laughter they used to be in whenever one of them referenced an inside joke or made fun of Hotch’s facial expressions behind his back.

“Sorry.” Elle mumbles rapidly, her eyes flickering between the grass below her feet and Emily’s face. 

“No, no it’s okay,” Emily tries to reassure, not wanting to deepen the rift. “You go first.” She permits and Elle gives a slight nod. The silence before she begins to speak is permeated only by the thudding of Emily’s heart in her ribcage which she swears that anybody in a five mile radius could probably hear pounding with anxiety.

“Okay, I-I don’t know how to start this so just give me a minute,” she sighs, absentmindedly pushing a hand through her hair. Emily can’t seem to pull her gaze away from how the short strands frame her face. “What happened on Friday with the whole, y’know, wasn’t your fault. I don’t want you to think differently of me in anyway because of it,” she begins tentatively, clearly censoring herself due to her embarrassment. Emily wants nothing more than to reach out and just hold her until she knows that there’s nothing to be ashamed of, but she lets the explanation continue, not wanting to rudely cut her off. “I know you were upset and I was drunk and you were drunk and I, I just wasn’t thinking. I don’t even know what came over me, I was just being stupid. And I’m sorry.” She finishes quickly, her words snowballing into a flustered apology. Emily bites the inside of her cheek, her mouth contorting itself into a deep frown.

“Elle, there’s nothing to be sorry for,” she sighs, furrowing her brow. “I need you to know that I-“ she’s on the brink of confessing something she can likely never take back when Elle cuts her off politely.

“Em? Please, I’m not finished yet,” the other girl asserts gently and Emily catches her bottom lip between her teeth, effectively silencing herself to allow her friend to continue. “What I did was messed up, I can admit that, but you shouldn’t have left me there alone,” Elle points out, her tone steady and words carefully chosen as if she’s rehearsed this speech. “I get that you were upset and it was a rough and confusing night for you, but ditching me to sit by myself in that bathroom for an hour waiting for you to come back only to hear that you had someone come pick you up? I can’t forgive that,” and it doesn’t take a genius to know she’s absolutely right, Emily thinks. She feels a stab of pain in her chest at the realization that she hadn’t even considered before hearing her best friend’s painfully honest confession. It takes every instinct in her to restrain herself from breaking down right there from the sheer guilt and frustration of it all, but continues to listen. “I’m sorry I hurt you, but you could have at least *told* me where you were going or what the plan was so I wasn’t stuck there crying my eyes out thinking I’d just ruined our entire friendship,” she can see Elle’s lip trembling with emotion as the glow of one of the field lights illuminates her face through the bleachers. Of course she’s witnessed her friend upset before over trivial things, but Emily never considered that she would be the cause of her holding back tears. It’s a painful idea to come to terms with as she watches as Elle persists. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” She questions rhetorically, inhaling shakily as she wraps her skinny arms around her slight figure. Emily merely stays silent, knowing she’s not looking for an answer right now. “You just disappeared. Haley and Alexa had to be the ones to tell me that they saw you leaving but only after I spent the better part of the night searching for you like an idiot!” She can see the tears on her cheeks now and it feels oddly reminiscent of the reason they’re having this conversation now. One of them is deeply upset, the other floundering as she tries to provide comfort. Of course, now the dynamic is switched, and Emily hates herself for being the reason that her best friend is crying. “I know that I shouldn’t have confused you like that, but what kind of friend does that to another person?” She asks, voice barely audible through the lump in her throat. Emily can only recall a few times in her sixteen years where she’s felt as helpless and emotionally ravaged, and right now is definitely one of those times.

She waits a few moments as Elle blinks back tears before answering, trying to find the right words to say. Of course, she knows, there are no right words. This is a situation she never considered she’d find herself in so she’s not exactly armed with the best way to diffuse such a dangerous dilemma. 

“Elle,” she breathes gently, the name of her best friend tingling on the edge of her tongue. “I’m so, so sorry,” she musters up, courage wavering beneath those bleachers as her heart stabs with the pain of watching her best friend brush away stray tears. “I-I don’t know what to say. I didn’t even- I didn’t mean to-,” she begins to stammer anxiously, unsure of how exactly to remedy the situation. Unfortunately, Elle interrupts before she can dig herself out of the hole she’s in.

“That’s all it ever is, Em, right? It’s okay as long as you didn’t mean to? Or you didn’t think about how I felt? Right?” She counters sarcastically, her words biting and her tone stinging with the venom of her frustration. Emily feels as though she’s just received a blow to the gut and suddenly she can’t catch her breath. 

“No, that’s not what I mean,” she protests fervently, holing she can just get her point across before Elle decides that she’s not in the mood to continue such an emotionally vulnerable conversation at a football game. “I-I’m not trying to make it seem like that, please just. I wanted to tell you that I didn’t think it was weird or anything when you- when we-“

*Just say it, Emily. Just tell her you liked it but that you were terrified of what was going to happen if you stayed. Just tell her how you haven’t stopped thinking about that kiss- your first kiss- for days and that you can’t sleep at night because you just keep replaying that memory over and over again in your head. Just tell her that you want her, that you want to be with her, that you think you like her as more than your best friend. Just tell her* 

She’s just about to take her own advice and opens her mouth once more to let the words that can’t seem to form on their own tumble out when the soft crunching of the grass beneath somebody else’s feet startles both girls and she whips around to see the image of Haley standing behind her with two medium soda cups in hand.

“Elle, we gotta head back. The third quarter’s starting,” she reminds gently, gesturing towards the field. Her eyes seem to strain in the shadows but it’s evident that she can see Elle furiously wiping away tears. Neither of the girls make a move, locked in some sort of perpetual staring match. Emily could stand there all night until the sun rose in the morning just to catch another glimpse of Elle.

Unfortunately, the other girl pulls herself away first, her gaze flickering over to the effervescent blonde.

“Yeah, let’s head back,” she agrees numbly, arms still wrapped around her figure in an almost protective stance. “I’ll see you around Emily.” She sighs, forcing herself to move from her position and head over to an eagerly awaiting Haley. The two make their way back out to the field together, leaving Emily alone in what feels like the darkest, coldest place of her imagination. 

But in reality, it’s just the bleachers where she used to skip gym with another bubbly freshman and laugh about whatever insignificant things in life that popped into their minds. That’s all it will ever be; just a memory now.

Her body doesn’t feel grounded in reality, so she’s shocked at her ability to drag herself back to the concessions stand, drop a dollar on a soda for her younger brother, and find herself sitting back on the cold metal seat next to Spencer who leans forward with his elbows resting on his knees and his chin in his palms. She ruffles his hair as she takes her seat once more, but he seems to notice the tightness of her expression and the unreleased tension her entire body holds.

“Are you okay?” He asks with naive concern. She manages a small smile at his question. She wishes she had his innocence.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” she lies easily, well accustomed to brushing off other people’s concerns at this point in her life. “I got you a Sprite, hope that’s okay,” she offers, handing him the small soda cup with a paper straw to stick in. “Wanna tell me another football fact before all-star down there makes another homerun?” She offers jokingly to placate him and steer the conversation away from her deteriorating emotional state. 

Spencer merely rolls his eyes with exaggeration. “It’s a *touchdown*,” he corrects and Emily pretends to nod as if she’s just learned that piece of information. “And sure. Did you get to say hi to Elle?” He questions, taking a liberal sip of his soda. The unexpected mention of the other girl’s name sends a jolt of pain throughout her chest, but she somehow manages a compliant nod.

“Yeah, yeah. We talked.” She answers vaguely, glancing over to the field where she can see her brother lining up for the next play. 

“That’s good,” Spencer points out innocently. “When Hotch and Pen and JJ get here you can go sit by her if you want. You don’t have to watch me.” He proposes, setting the small soda cup down on the empty space next to him. 

She can only smile sadly at his offer. Instead of immediately answering, she puts an arm around his shoulder and pulls him in for a quick hug, knowing that she needs the comfort right now. Spencer tenses up at first but eventually melts into her embrace and hugs her back.

“Nah, that’s okay,” she sighs shakily, forcing down the lump in her throat. “I think I’m good right here.” She adds and feels Spencer nod against her in understanding. Together, the two siblings watch their brother with cheers and grins. 

Emily just wishes hers wasn’t fake.

xxx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading! if you like this chapter leave a comment please!


	11. as we travel on, love’s what we’ll remember

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another chapter! i want to thank erin for helping me with my ideas and giving me feedback and always reading my story even tho i am a useless twink :,)  
> this chapter covers the end of derek’s football game, hotch and Penelope doing some audition prep, and a new friendship between emily and somebody new. thanks so much for reading! leave a comment down below if you enjoyed
> 
> Disclaimer: aspects of this work bear similarities to the separate publication “Patron Saint of Lost Causes”. the author of this work attributes the content in this chapter to the correct source (@themetaphorgirl). Publication of this work is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not replace the intellectual property of the above source. This work is intended for personal, non-commercial use only and the author attributes subsequently reproduced or reconstructed concepts to the original source, all rights reserved.

“Did you see Derek? Did you see him with that pass? That was like...64 yards! Did you see him?” 

Hotch can’t help but smile through his exhaustion at Spencer’s over-excited badgering questions. The kid is basically bouncing off of the bleachers as their small group makes their way down to the field below to get ready to go, and he’s 99% sure it has something to do with the crushed up empty soda cup that Emily’s carrying in her hand. 

He’s absolutely worn out himself from a full day of school, attending not only JJ’s game but half of Derek’s as well, all whilst running off of less than six hours of sleep from the night prior. But, he still manages a weary smile at Spencer’s excited antics and takes some delight in the pure, unadulterated joy that the younger boy experiences while praising his brother’s football game. 

“He saw, Spence, trust me,” Emily snorts, looking almost as worn out as he is. “And if you don’t calm down I’m going to throw you as far as Derek through that football.” She threatens light-heartedly in her usual teasing manner, but that doesn’t stop Hotch from shooting her a warning glare anyway. 

When he had arrived to catch the last quarter and a half of the Madison Heights game with JJ and Penelope in tow he had been able to spot Spencer and Emily up in the stands immediately. Spencer looked overjoyed to see them and hear the details of JJ’s game as they watched Derek play, but Emily remained pensive and silent, scarcely speaking a word. Hotch could have sworn he saw the remnants of tears on her cheeks but he remained silent, not wanting to push the issue. It didn’t take a genius, however, to pick up on the fact that Emily had her sharp eyes trained on the back of her best friend’s head most of the game rather than the field.

“I’m so exhausted I feel like I could fall asleep right here.” JJ sighs, stifling a yawn. The youngest girl is still dressed in her school’s shorts and jersey, Nike socks and cleats splattered with mud and grass stains that Hotch will futilely try and clean out that weekend before her next practice. He takes in the sight of her drooping eyelids and dark circles that seem to match Penelope and Emily’s lethargic energy. He would be lying if he tried to claim he wasn’t exhausted as well. 

“Derek will be out soon and then we’ll head home.” He placates, placing a gentle hand on JJ’s shoulder. They all fall into an easy, companionable silence as the hordes of attendees file past them to get to the parking lot and return home for the evening. He notices Spencer cross his too-skinny arms over his body and try to suppress a shudder, so Hotch deftly removes his own hoodie and drapes the garment over his younger brother’s figure, earning a thankful grin in response. 

Two minutes pass.

JJ sneezes softly. Penelope takes her glasses from the bridge of her nose to clean them with the hem of her shirt. Emily ties her dark hair up into a loose ponytail. 

Five more minutes pass.

Spencer leans his head against Hotch’s torso. JJ does the same, both of the youngest kids seeking comfort. Penelope leans up against the foundation of the bleachers, kicking absentmindedly at the grass below her feet.

Eight more minutes pass.

Something’s not right.

Hotch knows that it doesn’t take that long for the team to change out of their gear and leave the locker room. All of the players are probably in a hurry to strip themselves of their gross uniforms and get back to their families or friends for a post-winning game celebration. The adrenaline from playing drives them to hurry up, changing usually in record times in order to go greet their fans. He even knows from firsthand experience of seeing Derek rush to get ready whenever the kid wakes up late after ignoring Hotch’s calls that it wouldn’t take his younger brother that long to get dressed and out of the locker rooms. He doesn’t even realize his worry is scrawled over his face until Emily speaks up.

“You’re making that Sam the Eagle face again,” she points out, the sudden quip pulling him from his pensive trance and forcing him back to reality. “What’s wrong?” She questions with a sigh. He tries to soften his glare.

“I’m making- what?” He stammers, feigning confusion. He knows exactly what muppet she’s comparing him to but he’s not going to admit that. (And for the record: he can’t help his bushy eyebrows. It’s genetics.)

“Y’know, Sam the Eagle?” Emily cajoles, a slight teasing smirk making its way onto her face. “You never watched the muppets?” She raises an eyebrow dubiously. His frown only deepens.

“I don’t look like Sam the Eagle.” He snaps, protesting her accusation. She merely scoffs, tightening her ponytail.

“Whatever you say...” 

“Listen, I’m gonna go check on Derek,” he announces, trying not to let the worry in his voice show too much. “Something’s not right, he should be out by now.” He adds, feeling the tightness in his shoulders worsen as he speaks the words aloud. Emily, however, doesn’t seem as fazed by this development.

“You know him, he’s probably just hanging around some girls to flex or whatever,” she groans with a signature eye roll. “He’s *fine*,” she tries to reassure him, but Hotch isn’t so easily convinced. He shakes his head, gently pushing Spencer and JJ who were clearly beginning to nod off towards Emily instead. 

“I just wanna be sure,” he sighs half-heartedly. “Watch them for a minute I’ll be right back.” He asserts, already making his way back towards where he knows the Madison Heights locker rooms to be from his mandatory gym class freshman year. He feels his heart drop to his stomach like a rock when he recognizes the faces of a few of Derek’s older teammates, already dressed and leaving the premises with the rest of the spectators. Subconsciously, his pace speeds up to a jog towards the locker rooms.

It’s not that he doesn’t think Derek can handle himself; the kid is rapidly approaching six feet in height and his muscular frame that stems from hours spent practicing and playing football is daunting enough to any bullies. But Derek is also the youngest member on the team, not to mention the star player at only 15 years old. Hotch knows that jealousy can arise from older players who believe that they hold seniority and would deserve Derek’s spot more than the kid. He’s not fully convinced that Derek would find himself on the receiving end of a fight, especially considering how well-liked and passionate the kid is, but it makes sense. The theory would fully explain Derek’s recent drop in punctuality after practices, his closed-off behavior as of late, and his burgeoning insomnia that he doesn’t think Hotch notices. 

He notices another player pass by; a wide receiver who looks like he’s been taking steroids since age 2. Hotch’s heart nearly leaps out of his chest and he wills himself to hurry. Even the thought of some of these older seniors picking on Derek simply because of his position on the team makes him sick with worry. 

Finally after a few excruciatingly long minutes, he reaches the boy’s locker room door and doesn’t hesitate to pull it open. He spares a cringing look as the stale smell of sweaty football players assaults him, but he’s shocked to see that the main locker area is completely deserted. His brow furrows in confusion at the fact that clearly the area is abandoned after the game, but that doesn’t explain where Derek could be. There’s only one pathway from the locker rooms to the field so he definitely would have seen Derek by this point. Or, if the kid had somehow avoided detection and met his other siblings by the field’s entrance, Emily most likely would have sent Penelope after him to deter him from his course so that they could all go home already.

His intuition is never off. Something is really not right.

“Derek?” He calls into the room, the echo of his voice ricocheting off the aluminium tiles and the metal lockers. “Der, you in here kid?” He asks again, hoping his voice doesn’t show the apprehension of his irregularly fast-beating heart. He sucks in a sharp exhale when he hears footsteps approach from behind him and he whips around. However, expecting the worst, he is merely greeted with the image of his younger brother in his street clothes smiling brightly, his coach standing a few feet behind him. 

That was...not what he was picturing.

“Hey Hotch,” Derek greets nonchalantly, shrugging his equipment bag over his right shoulder. His forehead holds a few beads of sweat, but other than that he looks completely put-together. It was clear he wasn’t ambushed by some of his teammates and forced into some asinine hazing ritual or something similar. “Coach was just running through some ideas for plays next week. Sorry it took so long.” He brushes off comfortably, sparing a small smile as he gestures towards his football coach who extends a significantly larger hand out towards Hotch in a friendly manner.

“You must be Aaron. Derek’s told me a lot about you.” The man greets kindly and Hotch shakes his hand, hoping that his obvious skepticism doesn’t show on his face as he’s introduced. Hotch knows that his brother’s explanation should cause him to let his guard down finally, but he just can’t for some reason. He doesn’t like this feeling of uncertainty that invades his body at the entire scenario. He feels worse than the time both he and Emily contracted the stomach flu within the same week that past winter.

“Uh, yeah. That’s...that’s fine,” Hotch mumbles, turning his full attention towards his younger brother in regards to his seemingly innocent explanation. “Get your stuff, man. We gotta head out.” He orders and Derek gives a curt nod before turning around to face his coach.

“See you around, Coach Buford.” He pardons casually. Hotch doesn’t know if it’s his eyes playing tricks on him or not but he swears he sees Derek twitch slightly when his coach lays a hand on his shoulder.

“Great game tonight, kid. We couldn’t have done it without you,” Coach Buford laughs warmly, earning what appears to be a rather genuine smile from Derek. “You take care of this young man, you hear? Get this boy a good meal.” The coach orders, turning more centrally towards Hotch. He knows the comment is only supposed to be a light-hearted joke but Hotch feels himself frown at the gibe. He merely nods silently before replacing the coach’s hand on Derek’s shoulder with his own and leading the younger boy towards the locker room’s entrance. 

As soon as they leave the enclosed space and emerge into the autumn night sky, Hotch feels as though he could finally breathe again, and not just because they’re free of the overwhelming stench of teen football players. Derek seems to relax as soon as Hotch releases his grip on his shoulder and they begin the plodding trek back to the bleachers where their exhausted siblings are waiting on them.

The silence between the two doesn’t sit right with Hotch, no matter how much Derek’s blasé attitude works to convince him that everything is fine. Finally, he works up the courage for the words to leave his mouth.

“Do you do that a lot?” He begins calmly, trying not to make it seem like he’s accusing his younger brother of anything. “Stay back with your coach to talk?” He clarifies when Derek shoots him a perplexed glance.

He expects a belligerent defence as his answer, so he’s pleasantly surprised when Derek merely scoffs, shouldering his gym bag a bit more as they walk back across the field together. 

“Yeah, I mean, I’m kind of the quarterback, man,” he points out with humour in his relaxed tone. “I’ve gotta know how to lead the team. We’re just talking strategy for next week’s practices.” He shrugs and although there’s something so at ease about his response, Hotch still can’t clear his worry from the forefront of his mind. Derek is almost infuriatingly calm with his demeanour and it does absolutely nothing to assuage Hotch’s fears. But, he can’t argue without creating a deeper rift and further risking the chances of Derek hiding more pertinent information from him. He doesn’t want to give his brother the impression that he can’t come to him when something is obviously amiss in his life, so he merely sighs, running a hand through his dark hair.

“Okay, just wondering,” He concludes despite his dissatisfaction with the conversation. “You played great tonight, by the way,” he adds after another moment of prolonged silence. The compliment causes Derek’s honey-brown eyes to snap up from the turf of the field and meet Hotch’s genuine expression. “I’m proud of you.” He smiles honestly and Derek’s entire disposition seems to soften at the unexpected praise.

“Thanks, Hotch,” he grins, and for the first time that night Hotch actually believes the smile on his face. “Thanks for coming.” The younger boy tacks on. 

There’s a slight chill in the late September air as they find their way back to their siblings and begin the journey home, but Hotch doesn’t even seem to feel it despite having sacrificed his jacket to Spencer already. Life is far from perfect and there are several aspects of it far outside of what he aims to control, but the company of his siblings there is enough to reassure him that everything will be fine for at least another day. 

In the end, that’s all they can really do. Just take it day by day.

xxx

“Okay, we’ll start with something easy to warm up with. How about Happy Birthday?”

The suggestion alone makes Hotch cringe with embarrassment, the harsh reality of his situation finally washing over him like a wave crashing against the shore. He purses his lips, a clear indicator of his discomfort at the request, and glances around the room anxiously. Penelope, however, catches onto his indiscreet behavior immediately.

“I- what? What are you even doing right now? Why are you looking around like that?” She demands and he can only shrug, not able to form the words to provide such a harsh question with an answer. “Hotch, nobody else is here right now. It’s just me and you.” She laughs, obviously taking delight in his apprehension. 

Technically, she’s incorrect. Spencer fell asleep at the kitchen table working on his biology project and Hotch had to carry him to the couch so the kid wouldn’t get a crick in his neck. Although aside from Spencer, the rest of the house in uninhabited at the moment, and rarely so. JJ and Derek are both at their respective practices while Emily is still at work. They chose this day in particular to work on material for the looming musical auditions so that Hotch could try singing without the nerves associated with being heard immediately. Although Penelope did bring up the counter argument that he would have to be heard if he got into the show, Hotch merely dismissed this and asserted that if they didn’t practice today, they didn’t practice at all.

So that’s how he’s found himself alone in the bedroom he shares with Derek and Spencer, singing the quietest possible rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’ while Penelope critiques him. When did she learn so much about singing anyway? 

“You have a good voice, Hotch, you just have to be louder,” she informs him for the third time after he’s finished mumbling through the words of ‘My Country Tis of Thee’ as another warm-up. “How else is Haley gonna hear you?” She grins mischievously and Hotch holds himself back from walking out of the room right then and there. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he deadpans nonchalantly, hoping his ears aren’t growing red and betraying his non-emotional demeanor. “I’m doing this play to diversify my high school resume and enhance my prospects for university applications.” He repeats monotonously, having already tried to placate Penelope with the same line. The younger girl merely rolls her eyes.

“Sure, just keep telling yourself that,” she snorts sarcastically. Hotch is about to come back with a witty insult when she interrupts him by opening up her small school-loaned laptop that she uses for her computer programming class. “Now, we have to find an audition song for you.” She announces determinedly, pulling up YouTube on her web browser. 

So, they search. For forty long minutes they comb through catalogues of Sondheim, Schwartz, Webber, and every other composer in the musical theatre canon that Penelope can think of. None of the songs particularly stick out to Hotch and he ends up declining each and every option that Penelope has searched up. It’s not his fault, it’s the fact that somehow musical theatre seems to be the most unlikable genre of music in the world. He can’t help it if everything he hears is somehow the next new worst song. 

Finally, after nearly an hour of searching, Penelope seems about ready to throw in the towel. If he’s being honest he’s ready too, exasperated by each and every musical theatre baritone solo he’s being forced to listen to. He’s just about to reach the imminent conclusion that maybe he can get to know Haley through some other, less annoying, art form when Penelope clicks on another video and his attention is suddenly grabbed by the melody coming from the laptop’s low-quality speaker.

“Crap, sorry, didn’t mean to hit that one.” Penelope sighs and moves her cursor to click away, but Hotch places a hand on her shoulder to stop her from doing so. She looks up at him, brows knitted in confusion.

“Wait, don’t. I actually like this one,” He admits, listening to the slow chord progression against the singer’s voice. He can’t accurately identify the strange new feeling that bubbles up inside of his chest, but he suddenly doesn’t want the song to end. It feels oddly reminiscent of certain nostalgic memories from his childhood, but he can’t think of any logical reason why it feels so familiar. All he knows is that he doesn’t want to stop listening. Ever. “I want to do this one,” he asserts curtly, holding his breath in as he lets the ballad progress slowly. “For the auditions.” He clarifies, not able to tear his gaze away from the laptop screen as he becomes utterly entranced. His eyes skim over the title of the song as the ensemble joins in behind the main soloist. 

Penelope’s confusion only seems to grow. “Hotch...this is a girl’s song.” She points out as if it weren’t already completely obvious. He can hear the female singer’s voice against the dulcet tones of the horn section and the growing major chords.

“I know, but I like it. Am I not allowed to do a song just because a girl sings it on the recording?” He counters, raising an eyebrow. He’s not completely sure how high school musical theatre works, but he’s pretty sure it’s no Broadway. He can probably get away with singing an opposite gender’s song for an audition.

“Guess not,” Penelope shrugs calmly. “Okay, so I guess you’ll sing What I Did For Love from A Chorus Line,” she announces, typing the title into her search bar to find an instrumental track. “Let’s learn it so you can start practicing on your own.” She suggests and despite Hotch’s adamant protests, he still ends up stuck in that bedroom thirty minutes later, beginning to learn the first few bars of the too-familiar song that he can’t understand why he remembers it so vividly or from where. 

“Kiss today goodbye, and point me toward tomorrow, wish me luck the same to-“ he’s just started to sing slightly above a whisper with plenty of Penelope’s encouragement when he suddenly hears somebody shuffling from behind the closed and very tightly locked door. He immediately stops singing and makes it to the door in two short strides, quickly pulling it open.

He doesn’t love the image that greets him.

Not only is Spencer awake and standing at their door, but he’s joined by a very amused looking JJ, Derek, and Emily. Hotch feels himself pale at the sight of all his siblings having heard him singing. He wishes that he could fade away into nothingness as all four of them invite themselves into the room, pushing right past him as if he really was invisible.

“That was great, Hotch, just fantastic. But I have some tips...” Penelope begins and Hotch resists the urge to duck into the closet to hide himself amidst the hanging clothes. Penelope, however, is interrupted before she can give any of her aforementioned tips.

“Yeah, that was amazing, Hotch. Are we finally gonna get that showtune duet I’ve been waiting for?” Derek teases lightheartedly, eyeing the computer screen with intrigue. Hotch hurriedly taxes over to shut down the laptop before anybody else can get a glance.

“We can give you tips too, y’know,” JJ smirks and Hotch only has the emotional strength to glare at her. She continues undeterred. “For starters, I think you have to sing louder than that for your girlfriend to hear you.” She taunts in the absolutely infuriating manner only a twelve-year-old could manage. 

“Hey, I said that too!” Penelope gasps with glee, holding up her hand for a high five with her sister. Hotch merely feels his blush deepen.

“Guys, cut it out,” Emily jumps in, seemingly ready to diffuse the situation. Obviously, Hotch should have known better. “He’s clearly not doing this for any girl or for school,” she chides, shooting them all a disapproving glance. “He’s just getting ready for his American Idol audition. Who knows? We may even see him on Broadway next month!” She jokes, eliciting a round of laughter from all of his siblings. Hotch merely clenches his jaw so tightly he fears he may break a tooth.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” he groans, shaking his head. How the hell did all they all get into the house without him noticing? “Real funny material, you ever consider standup?” He chides sarcastically but his comeback only makes Emily dissolve into more laughter.

“Well I think you sounded good, Hotch!” Spencer pipes up enthusiastically amidst all the giggles in the room. Hotch grants him a small smile, actually surprised at the compliment. Of course, his surprise doesn’t last for long. “But they’re technically right. If you want to be in the school musical, you’re going to have to sing as loud as you snore every night.” Spencer quips unexpectedly, sending the rest of their siblings (including a not-so-subtle Penelope) into another fit of laughter. Hotch can only groan, burying his head in his hands to wait out the embarrassment.

At least, he thinks with some shred of relief, Rossi doesn’t know about this. He would never hear the end of that. 

Later that night only after the hysterical laughter at his show-tune singing attempts have faded and they’ve all gotten into bed, does Hotch realize belatedly where he recognized that song from. A pang of longing courses throughout his body when the realization hits him that his mother used to sing that song to him and his younger brother before bed when he was a child. His mouth twists into an irreversible frown as the melody plays on an endless loop in his head, the image of his late mother unable to leave the forefront of his mind. 

As he drifts off to a dreamless sleep that night he tries not to think of snoring too loud and the void left in his heart by a woman who could never return.

xxx

She’s alerted to the sound of a customer entering the store when the antiquated golden bell that hangs above the cracked doorframe rings loudly. 

The sound, although she should be used to it by now after working at Mission Galleria for a year, startles her nonetheless from her position under the front desk (she was bent down trying to see if the spider she had just whacked was actually dead or not) and she smacks the top of her head hard enough to make the room spin as she jumps up, trying to stand back up.

Skull smarting with immeasurable pain, she slowly rises with a clenched jaw and holding her hand against the back of her head to try and quell the ache.

“Mission Galleria antiques, how may we help you today?” She groans automatically, rubbing the sore spot on her skull that will definitely form some sort of unsightly lump in the near future. She’s so preoccupied by the ache on her head that she doesn’t even realize who she’s just greeted until she hears the familiar accent. 

“Hi, I was actually, erm- looking for you.” 

Her eyes snap up from the desk where she was dazedly searching for some sort of rag she could run under the bathroom sink to put on her smarting skull at the sound of his voice. Her glaze flickers over to the not-so-foreign exchange student in genuine shock and disbelief at the fact that he’s standing right in front of her on a mundane Sunday afternoon as she works a solo shift in the antique shop.

This, Emily decides, has got to be some sort of head injury trauma induced hallucination. But, she knows that there’s no way she could have smacked her skull that hard on the corner of the desk. She’s also acutely aware of the not-so-subtle way her jaw has dropped at the sight of the brunette boy in her store.

*Just say hi like a normal, well-adjusted individual.’* she instructs herself silently, absolutely prepared to do so. Instead, what comes out is:

“Sorry I barfed on your shoes the other night.” 

Great.

Luckily for her, the comment doesn’t exacerbate the already awkward situation and Mick even manages a chuckle at her blunt response. His laugh eases her self-perceived tension and she cracks a small smile, allowing herself to finally feel at ease in his presence. 

She supposes that’s partially due to the fact that she doesn’t feel any romantic attraction to the admittedly handsome young man anymore. Ever since the now infamous Bathroom Incident with Elle, she’s taken to noticing that every single boy at their school possess about a million absolutely undesirable traits- both physically and socially. Although, she figures that’s also in part due to the fact that she’s had to spend her lunch periods with David Rossi for a whole week and she’s at her wits end listening to the repressed boy thirst over any girl that walks by. 

“That’s okay, you didn’t even really barf on my shoes anyway,” he laughs warmly, eyes crinkling up at the corners. “It was definitely more to the side of my shoes.” He corrects and Emily scoffs light-heartedly, feeling slightly better about her drunken mess of an evening.

“Well, let’s just call it post-digestion retribution against the interior designer that decided green and white kitchen tiles right next to brown shag carpeting was okay.” She quips sarcastically, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. The teenage boy seems somewhat impressed by her level of wit as he laughs and she can’t lie that the validation of her jokes does make her feel good. It just doesn’t feel the same way when Elle laughs with her.

“Seriously. For all the money Maddie’s family seems to have they couldn’t buy better flooring?” He shoots back easily and Emily snorts. She decides she likes talking to him, but she’s still perplexed as to why the foreign exchange student has shown up at the unassuming antique shop with claims of looking for her. If not to seek revenge for vomiting in close proximity to his shoes, then what? She decides to test the waters of the conversation.

“So...can I help you find any 19th century civil war era tchotchkes today?” She begins casually, drumming her fingers atop the cashier’s desk behind which she stands. “We have an unsurprisingly creepy collection of about 40 wooden owls in the back.” She offers, earning another prize-winning smile from the Welsh boy. It’s not difficult to see why every girl at their school has a crush on him, besides the obvious swoon-ability of his thick accent and deep baritone voice. He, or another boy at Madison Heights, is just not her type.

“Actually I just stocked up on wooden owls for the winter so I may be good for now,” he responds rapidly and then immediately squints his eyes shut in embarrassment after speaking. “...And that may have just been the dumbest line I’ve ever told a girl in my life.” He cringes and Emily can’t control her piteous laughter at his self-induced embarrassment.

“Yeah you might want to work on that,” she advises as the boy shakes his head, maintaining a steady eye contact with the floor. “Especially if you want girls to see past the whole wooden owl collector thing. That might be a turn-off.” She jokes, taking delight in the way his ears go slightly red when she speaks. He lets out a half-sigh, half-laugh as he nods, finally picking up his gaze from the linoleum tile of the Mission Galleria.

“Well, to be honest, I came here because I’ve heard that you work here...and I wandered to talk. To you.” He clarifies, his modesty speaking volumes. His confession, although previously stated, still takes Emily by surprise and she suddenly doesn’t feel as at ease with the conversation. She merely clears her throat, wiping her suddenly sweaty palms on the front of her jeans.

“About the shoes?” She deadpans, trying to disarm the newfound awkward turn their situation has taken. Mick gives a meagre laugh.

“No, not about the shoes,” he chuckles, pushing a hand through his brown hair, letting a few strands naturally fall into his wide eyes. “About you,” he admits and Emily unintentionally feels her heart pick up, but not in the same way that she’s noticed it racing whenever she’s around Elle or even thinks about Elle. “And me, potentially,” he adds quickly. “And tomorrow night after school, if you’re free?” He finally musters up enough courage to expound upon his original point but Emily suddenly isn’t too fond of the energy they’ve created in this antique store.

Her tongue feels too heavy in her mouth and she absentmindedly wonders when the hell it got so hot in the storefront.

“I-um, I’m sorry , but I- I think you’re nice and all, but it’s just that...I don’t think-“ she begins to stammer without purpose. Suddenly, she can’t take the constricted feeling that wraps itself around her chest and she moves to step out from behind the counter, needing to leave the situation as fast as possible. However, Mick side steps with her and merely holds up a hand, trying to stop her from fleeing.

“No, no I get it. Don’t feel pressured or anything. I just liked when we talked at the party the other night and I thought maybe- but it’s okay!” He stutters, probably feeling as scatterbrained as she is. Emily does feel a pang of guilt for the boy. If she were in his position, (which she’s very thankful she’s not), she wouldn’t know how to respond to being rejected in a dusty antique store. “I kind of figured anyway considering you’ve been sitting by that Rossi kid all week at lunch-“ he begins, more speaking aloud to himself than to her. However, she cuts him off before he can further pursue the thought or before she can vomit at the very idea.

“Whoa! Back up!” She shouts, not caring if any of the few elderly customers still browsing the store can hear her. “No! No, no, no, no, no, no, NO!” She asserts, still choking down bile at the utterly disgusting thought of her and Rossi in some sort of relationship. “Absolutely not. Not in a million years. Not in his wildest fantasies which I’m *sure* he has by the way because he’s the horniest person I’ve ever met,” she protests, not even noticing how Mick is laughing again. “Absolutely fucking not.” She finishes with a dissatisfied glare, still fuming at the very accusation. Mick, however, seems to take humorous delight in her answer.

“So...you *are* single then, yeah?” He questions, raising one of his brows in a manner that he probably believes is charming but comes off more as smarmy.

“I-I don’t know.” She admits, shocking even herself. She doesn’t know what ghost possesses her to force the words out of her mouth or even what she means by them. Mick is also befuddled by the nebulous response.

“Well, what does that mean?” He chuckles awkwardly and Emily’s scowl deepens as she tries to formulate an intelligent response without giving away too much information to the unexpected suitor.

“I- at the party, I kissed somebody. I think I liked it. I think I may want to be with them now,” she reveals, purposefully keeping her words as vague as possible. Mick doesn’t give any indication that he’s understood her and she suddenly feels worse than ever. “I-I’m sorry I can’t go out with you.” She finishes hastily, trying once more to push herself away from the scene. Once again, the boy sidesteps her.

“Hey! Don’t be sorry, maybe we can just hang out. Y’know, as friends?” He suggests in earnest and Emily raises her brows in shock at the offer. He really isn’t like any other boy she’s met, but she figures that has more to do with the foreign aspect. “That way you won’t have to sit by Rossi anymore,” he jokes knowingly and she manages a shaky smile. “What’s his name? I can be your wingman even!” Mick offers excitedly, beaming at the idea. She’s never met a teenage boy with so many girls crushing on him in such desperate need of companionship. Although, she does recall that she’s never really seen him surrounded by anyone who seems to want to actually get to know him beyond flirtatious looks. She can also tell from firsthand experience of hanging out with boys like her brother and Rossi that they aren’t too fond of the foreign exchange student garnering all the attention from girls in their grade. Her smile grows slightly when she realizes that Mick really is just looking for somebody to talk to that won’t ogle him like a piece of meat or treat him like an outsider. It softens her heart a bit to see the boy so eager to make friends that he would seek Emily out, get rejected by her, and then offer his services as a wingman.

“I- thank you,” she scoffs quietly. “But I can’t tell you her name.” She hints, hoping the mention of pronouns will deter the boy from thinking they were still compatible in anyway. Of course, at one time, she even considered the thought that they were. But that seems like eons ago now; a distant lifetime belonging to a former version of herself that she thought she knew but clearly didn’t. 

Mick doesn’t seemed fazed by her confession. He nods slowly, almost in a strange acceptance of the predicament he’s found himself in. Emily stifles a sarcastic scoff. She imagines that this conversation was probably not considered as an option in the boy’s plans before coming to the store that afternoon.

“Ah, I see,” he mutters, although not regretfully. “That would make a difference then.” He chuckles light-heartedly and Emily is pleasantly surprised that he’s so casual about it. She narrows her gaze, skeptical of his inconclusive answer. 

“Does that...upset you or something?” She challenges, not entirely sure of the answer she’s going to receive or whether she’ll need to discreetly excuse herself from his presence forever. Luckily, that doesn’t seem to be the case at all.

“No!” He protests, laughing slightly. “Of course not. If it did that’d probably mean I’d be pretty upset with myself then.” He muses aloud and Emily can’t restrain her jaw from dropping slightly, not even minding the chuckle it elicits from Mick.

“You mean- you’re?” She chokes out, the voice that she hears not sounding like her own. Mick gives a shy nod.

“I’m bisexual, I suppose, yes,” He chuckles, running his hand across his sharp jawline. “I understand where you’re coming from. It was really difficult for me to accept at first but then I just sort of tuned out all the idiots in my life trying to tell me how to act and it all got better from there,” he advises, mentally reflecting on events that Emily could never comprehend even occurring to him. However, he perks back up after a solemn moment. “So...do you still need a wingman?” He jokes light-heartedly and Emily manages to wipe the surprise off her face and express a slight smile at his honest confession.

Mick Rawson. Huh. Who knew?

“Ah, no,” Emily admits with a clenched jaw. She figures that Elle probably wouldn’t be too fond of the idea of Mick Rawson attempting to gain Emily a date with her...or whatever else a wingman did. “She’s not exactly my biggest fan right now.” She explains, grossly underselling the events of her and her best friend’s conflict.

“That’s alright,” Mick shrugs with all the excitement and bright exuberance of a golden retriever. His naivety makes Emily smile. “How about just a friend?” He suggests with a grin and Emily’s own smile grows. Her heart still aches for the idea of Elle, but what’s the harm of having another friend to hang out with while her and Elle are still at odds with one another? Emily figures that if Elle can replace her with Haley Brooks and Alexa Lisbon, Emily can temporarily find some solace away from Rossi with Mick. Really, it’s not a crime, and if it just so happens to make Elle feel the same piercing jealousy that she’s been feeling all week, what’s the harm in that?

“Yeah,” she chuckles, holding out her significantly smaller hand for Mick to shake. He does so without hesitation. “Yeah, I could use a friend.” She admits, solidifying their bond. 

At the very least, she figures, this should be interesting.

xxx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! leave a comment if you enjoyed! 
> 
> (also we stan wlw and mlm solidarity between Emily and mick lol)


	12. like silence, but not really silent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another chapter! thanks to everyone who left such kind comments last chapter, i hope you enjoy this one! also Grant Anderson Stans rise up.
> 
> Disclaimer: aspects of this work bear similarities to the separate publication “Patron Saint of Lost Causes”. the author of this work attributes the content in this chapter to the correct source (@themetaphorgirl). Publication of this work is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not replace the intellectual property of the above source. This work is intended for personal, non-commercial use only and the author attributes subsequently reproduced or reconstructed concepts to the original source, all rights reserved.

His mother would be proud of him.

That’s the mantra that Spencer Reid often finds himself retreating within in order to cope with the menial routine of his school. 

It’s not that his tenth grade AP schedule isn’t advanced enough for him- for the most part it is- but sometimes it isn’t. Sometimes there are days where he sits in his usual seat at the very front (because his prescription hasn’t been updated in a few years and despite his glasses he can’t see the board all that well) and he tunes out the lecture subconsciously because he’s already studied this subject on his own time and the teacher’s words all seem to blur together like some homogenous mixture. 

He knows his teachers like him enough, but that solace in the comfort of his small, centralized AP classrooms doesn’t extend out into the harshness of the hallways or the lunchroom where he’s no stranger to harsh glares, shoves as he walks by, or attempting to trip him in the lunchroom and make him drop his lunch tray. Luckily, that last one hasn’t happened as much since the janitor reprimanded the kids who tripped him and forced the principal to give them all detention. But, temporary detention doesn’t solve every issue; if anything it actually exacerbates them because now the group of well-liked students have another reason to hate him and plot his untimely demise.

Okay, that’s a bit dramatic, but it still applies.

He knows that they only loathe him for his intelligence or the fact that his size and age makes him an incredibly easy target. He knows that even the other kids in his AP classes groan or snicker behind his back whenever he goes into one of his long-winded rants on kinetic molecular theory or Max Planck. He also knows that things would be a hell of a lot easier if he would only adjust his personality and quirks to fit that of his peers. If he merely melded himself to a more manageable form than there wouldn’t be so much ammunition to be used against him by the older kids who seem to live for their daily chance to make his life hell. If he were only normal like they wanted him to be.

But, he doesn’t.

He doesn’t give the popular kids who sneer and roll their eyes like he’s some subhuman specimen not worthy of sharing their oxygen the satisfaction of seeing him break. He doesn’t try to hide his quirks or abnormalities because somebody else wants him to. He doesn’t even try to hide the fact that he wears mismatched socks everyday or likes to keep his hair longer than Hotch and Derek’s. He’s not about to reinvent himself for some snot-nosed kids with a cumulative GPA of 1.7, and for that, he knows his mother is proud.

Even if the woman is in a mental institution and most likely wouldn’t recognize him if he walked in the door and said hello, he knows that she wouldn’t want him to change either. His mother was the first person to introduce him to the throes of classic literature and showed him exactly how to get lost in the passionate prose of authors long gone. His father was a strong proprietor of the belief that young boys should spend their days playing outside with their friends, riding bikes, or playing on the little league team. His mother discouraged these actions when she learned of Spencer’s highly advanced intelligence and allowed him to do whatever he pleased— which was usually just to spend as much time with her as possible. He didn’t even mind much if it was one of the occasions when she wasn’t particularly lucid, he just sought her comforting presence and would even read to her if she was having one of her episodes.

However, as time progressed, these periods of lucidity grew few and far between. His father stayed out late each night or neglected to come home at all, and although he wanted to help, there was only so much a six (almost seven) year-old could do when it came to treatment options. 

Eventually, it got to the point where he was showing up at school in the same unwashed clothes for a few weeks straight and he had lost a significant amount of weight in a very short period of time. His second grade teacher— back then William had only allowed him to skip a year ahead, not wanting to further isolate the boy and make him appear as some freakish anomaly compared to their picture-perfect neighbors— had noticed the massive drop in weight for the already skinny boy and the fact that he no longer brought lunch with him. The homely teacher ended up alerting the department of family services of her concerns and without hesitation, Spencer was removed from his mother’s care when the caseworker came to their home and saw the evidence of a clearly underprepared child attempting to take care of his mentally ill mother in the stead of his father’s abandonment. 

For them, it was an open and shut case. For Spencer, it was the day he felt his heart rip in two. 

Half of it went to his mother in the sanitarium where she was to be placed despite her manic ravings against the idea, and half of it remained with him. Unlike JJ or Derek who had been moved from multiple houses before coming to their current situation, Spencer merely spent a short weekend with an elderly woman whose house reeked of cat litter before his caseworker was able to find a permanent placement for him that had obviously led to him meeting his siblings, but also Greg who served only to remind him a bit too much of William and only made him incredibly anxious whenever he saw him, (which was fortunately on very rare occasions).

Of course, there were positives to the otherwise dissatisfactory life he had been shoved into. At his old elementary school he was forced to stay behind at his father’s behest and work on learning concepts he had mastered by the age of three like rudimentary arithmetic and spelling. Greg was a lenient guardian in the sense that he had absolutely no clue what went on in his house; as long as he got his government check from allowing needy foster kids to live on the premises, he was content to let them fend for themselves. So, when Spencer’s new teacher sent a sealed envelope home about possibly advancing the seven-year-old up by three grade levels at the very least, he immediately presented the letter to the thirteen-year-old boy that had basically become Spencer’s fierce protector within the span of two short weeks. Hotch had forged their negligent foster parent’s signature with a flourish but only after he had consulted Spencer on whether or not he even wanted to be advanced so rapidly through school.

Spencer was overjoyed for the first time in months. He allowed himself to be, for both him and his mother. He knew she would have been proud then too.

That was how he found himself being hailed as the school’s resident genius despite his tiny stature and unassuming nature. That was how he found himself winning multiple accolades at the state-level science fair at only eight years old after constructing his own functioning replica of Alexander Graham Bell’s original induction balance design. That was how he found himself as a ten-year-old high school sophomore at Madison Heights amidst a sea of much larger and far more intimidating kids that didn’t care much for being shown up academically by a literal child. And, of course, that was how he found himself in the boy’s bathroom on the nearly deserted third floor after school that day choking and sputtering on the now slippery tile after having his head shoved forcibly into one of the toilets and flushed repeatedly.

He wished he could say that this was a new experience.

At least he was blissfully alone in the bathroom after his tormentors had gotten their fill of witnessing him suffer and fled the scene to avoid unnecessary detection by a janitor or passing teacher. But Spencer knew that no lasting repercussions would come to the older kids anyway; they were all-star athletes who provided the school with the majority of its funding from donors and boosters. The act of reporting the incident was futile anyway considering the fact that nothing ever came of it. Vice Principal Strauss would purse her lips, a look of fake concentration and concern plastered on her face as he filled out an incident report. She would tell him that there were multiple resources of adults to speak to if the situation ever arose and he would nod and either head back to class or go home, already anticipating the next attack with dread. 

He had considered informing his older siblings of the issue multiple times but it didn’t seem like something he wanted them to handle for him. Besides, it would merely send Derek and Emily into a predictably violent tailspin and they would land themselves in trouble rather than the actual perpetrators of the bullying, much like how Emily had punched Jack Dern for him. He didn’t want to impose upon Hotch to solve every issue for him like he was some petulant child who couldn’t handle himself, so Spencer kept his mouth shut. He could endure a few annoying individuals for the next year or so until he finally graduated and left all of their ignorance behind. 

He figures his mother would be proud of him for that too. 

Wringing out the last of the water from his still damp hair, he runs a sleeve across his dripping face, silently glad that he can’t tell the difference between the water he’s been submerged in from his tears. It’s not the first time he’s had his head shoved into one of the disgusting public school toilets and it certainly won’t be the last, but he just wishes that somebody would kick down the door and stop them before they ever got that far. He knew he could easily remedy the situation by just telling Derek to have his back or asking Emily to walk him home on certain days, but he wants to advocate for himself. He doesn’t want Hotch to stare at him with that piteous look like he’ll never be able to fend for himself in the real world or to have the rest of his siblings treat him like even more of a baby than they already do. He loves them, but sometimes the attention can be absolutely draining.

So nobody ever shows up to stop the attacks before they happen, but that’s okay. 

He gathers his backpack from the other end of the abandoned bathroom, sweeping up the few loose papers and notebooks his tormentors had spread around the enclosed space when they first hauled him in there and held his arms behind his back until he cried out in pain. He shivers from the cold as his hair drips down his shirt and sends a chill up his spine, but really, it’s fine. It’s no different than last week.

He pulls a few of the scratchy brown paper towels from the dispenser by the sink and mops of his face, ridding it of any dampness or tears that remain. He doesn’t need to surveil the hallway for safety before leaving the bathroom, he knows that the usual crew of teenage boys that chooses to make him their target have gone to football practice for the afternoon. Spencer tries not to feel resentful of the fact that Derek spends his time with these guys. He knows that his older brother wouldn’t associate with them if Spencer would only tell Derek the truth.

*’Would he though?’* a small nagging voice at the back of his mind taunts in a sinister manner as Spencer allows the door of the bathroom to swing shut behind him. *’Or would he just let them keep picking on you so he doesn’t have to deal with you?’* the voice points out rudely and Spencer has to pause, squeezing his eyes shut to block it out.

*’Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up.’* he wills silently, halting in the middle of the deserted third floor hallway to force out the aggravating reminder of his own weakness. He doesn’t realize how long he’s been standing there with his jaw clenched and eyes tightly closed until he nearly jumps out of his socks at the sound of somebody clearing their throat politely before speaking.

“Um, are you okay?” A timid voice asks and Spencer’s eyes snap open in unmitigated shock at the sudden intruder. For a minute fear jolts through his body before he realizes how paranoid he’s being when he sees the girl’s face.

She’s clearly new, otherwise she probably wouldn’t have ended up on the third floor hallway where there’s absolutely no extracurriculars held and barely any classrooms in the first place. He also doesn’t recognize her from when he scanned through Penelope’s yearbook mock-up after she asked him for his opinion on her design spread. He had an unlikely penchant for memorizing names and faces and this girl didn’t look like any of the ones he had seen in the yearbook.

“Who are you?” Is all he manages to blurt out in lieu of an actual response. The girl is definitely an upperclassmen judging by her height and his general estimation of her age. She clutches a few books in her arms, unkempt waves of brunette hair falling around her face and spilling over her shoulders. She stands at least seven inches taller than he does, but that’s not exactly a rare occurrence considering his age.

The girl offers an intrigued glance. “Answering a question with a question...very maieutic of you.” She observed with a smile and Spencer’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise at her statement. 

“You know Socrates?” He chokes, realizing belatedly that the question may come off as a bit more condescending than intended. However, the girl doesn’t seem to take offence at his disbelief.

“You know that you’re leaving puddles, right?” She jokes, gesturing down to his feet where there’s a small pool of water forming due to the dripping from his hair, neck, and face. He sighs deeply, taking a step out of the growing surface of water.

“Right,” he grumbles, dissatisfaction written all over his face. “Thought I dried off better.” He remarks with a hasty shrug, clearly not wanting to dwell on why he just emerged dripping wet from a men’s bathroom. It doesn’t take an IQ of 187 to put the puzzle together.

“Are you...on the swim team or something?” The girl asks gently with a polite smile. Spencer’s lips tighten into a thin mockery of her grin, scoffing at the notion of him being on an athletic team.

“Yeah, we have our practices in the bathrooms to save water.” He notes sarcastically and the girl lets out a genuine laugh at his comment. He feels the tension in his shoulders release when he sees that he’s not driving her away with his usual social awkwardness that seems to be rather off-putting to most new people. It feels nice, he decides, to have somebody asking him the questions and referencing Socrates instead of the other way around.

“Efficient, but I don’t imagine you could fit much more than your head inside.” She jokes lightly and much to his surprise, Spencer actually laughs. Despite the unfortunate situation of being forced to face a toilet bowl once or twice a week, he still manages to find some humor in the girl’s statement.

“I’m sure that was the fatal design flaw,” he quips light-heartedly. He feels another unexpected droplet of water run down his back from underneath his shirt and he gives a shuddering jolt at the unwarranted sensation. The girl notices this and frowns at his shivering.

“Here, take my jacket,” she offers and Spencer is ready to protest but the silencing look she gives him as she sets down her hefty stack of books and begins to shrug her way out of her light purple hoodie is enough to keep him quiet. “I don’t want you to die of pneumonia and then somehow I get framed for it because I’m the last person who saw you alive.” She jests and Spencer doesn’t point out the flaws in her logic as she helps him slip his arms into the sleeves. Usually, he would vehemently deny needing any help but he doesn’t want to push this girl away just because she’s being kind. That’s all.

“Thanks,” he comments genuinely. “What’s your name?” 

“Alexandria,” The girl introduces and he notices a slight grimace cross her face. “But I just like Alex,” she proclaims. “You?”

“Spencer, and I just like Spencer.” He mimics with a teasing smile that Alex copies. He decides that he likes the way she looks when she smiles and the way that, not unlike Derek, her eyes crinkle in the outer corners. 

“You’re funny, you know that, Spencer?” She points out, bending down to replace the stack of four or five books in her arms. Spencer notices the way her backpack is situated on both shoulders rather than just the one like most teenagers and the fact that she stumbles as she rises from her crouch, mentally noting that she probably has an additional stack of equally heavy books in her bag. This notion makes his newfound affinity for her grow even more. He catches a glimpse of one of the covers in her arms and recognizes it easily as a Phillip K. Dick novel that he read a few years prior.

“And you’re...well-read.” He comments in his best attempt to return the compliment. Alex beams at his pseudo-praise.

“Well, *you* are a wonderful creation,” she begins and it doesn’t take more than a second and a half for Spencer to recognize what she’s quoting. “You know more than you think you know-“ 

“Just as you know less than you want to know!” He finishes right alongside her, both of them breaking out into wide grins at their own nerdiness. “Oscar Wilde!” He exclaims eagerly as Alex beams. “You’ve read Picture of Dorian Gray too?” He asks excitedly. Alex nods, shifting the stack in her arms to show a very worn edition of the gothic fiction novel in her possession.

“Yeah, just finished it for like the fourth time again,” she proclaims with a wide smile that Spencer parrots. He’s honestly in a state of shock, he’s never met another student at his school—that wasn’t one of his siblings— who would engage in more than a minute of conversation with him. Let alone a conversation about literature. “It’s one of my favorites.” She adds, her wide brown eyes looking a bit dreamy. He began to suddenly feel very nervous at the prospect of driving Alex away with his personality so he attempted to calm himself down before she decided, not unlike the rest of the student body, that he was merely some annoying child not worth her time. 

“It’s okay,” he admits, downplaying his love for the novel. “If you like dark romanticism, I suppose.” He adds fervently. He expects Alex to demean him or even protest his claims but she doesn’t. Instead, she gives a gentle shrug and beckons for him to follow her towards the entrance of the third floor hallway. He nearly trips over his untied converse shoelace as he follows her, leaving behind the puddle of water that had previously formed at his feet.

“Well, what do you like?” She asks, seeming genuinely interested in his response as she pushes open the double doors and leads him out into the late afternoon sun in the deserted corridor. As he begins to divulge into one of his favorite subjects with this unexpected companion, he realizes that Alex differs from his siblings not only in the sense that he doesn’t know her, but that she’s not obligated to listen to him ramble but she still asks. She still seems intrigued by what he has to say even after he rambles on about Henry Bradshaw and William Dunbar for the better part of fifteen minutes as they sit atop one of the many flights of stairs with their vantage point of the student parking lot below. He’s decided that he’s really beginning to enjoy her company when a small ping sounds from inside her jeans pocket and she maneuvers her books to the side to pull her phone out.

“Ah, my mom’s telling me to get home,” she groans, eyes scanning her phone briefly before shoving it back into her pocket and reaching back in to pull out a set of car keys. It’s only then does the realization hit him that she has absolutely nothing forcing her to be here with him, but she just spent fifteen or twenty minutes of her own time having a conversation about literature because she *wanted* to. The thought itself makes Spencer want to explode with happiness at the idea that he may have accidentally just formed a very unsuspecting friendship with somebody after having his head held underwater and flushed multiple times. She seems to notice his shock and mistakes it for something else. “Is your mom coming to pick you up?” She asks innocently, the question pulling Spencer from his trance.

He blinks a few times, forcing himself back to reality.

“No it’s Monday so I’m supposed to go to student government with Hotch but I don’t think Hotch is there right now anyway because of his musical auditions,” he explains, the words falling from his mouth with ease as if he’s really just talking to one of his siblings rather than a stranger he just met that afternoon. He can’t help it; he feels like he knows Alex on such an intense level already despite their very recent acquaintance. “I’ll probably just wait here for him until he’s done.” He admits softly and Alex spares a warm smile. 

“Hotch?” She repeats, raising an eyebrow curiously. Spencer almost facepalms when he realizes that obviously she would ‘t know that the name he calls his oldest brother.

“My brother,” He clarifies with a chuckle. “He’s a junior.” He adds unnecessarily as Alex nods.

“Me too,” she offers, pulling herself to her feet from their position on the steps and brushing off the dust from her jeans before grabbing her books once more. “Well, it was a pleasure meeting you, Spencer. I hope you can tell me more about some of those poems you mentioned again soon.” She grins, holding out her hand, presumably for Spencer to shake. However, he merely shakes his head and she retracts the hand after a moment.

“I don’t shake, but thanks for talking to me, Alex.” He explains and she gives an understanding look that reminds Spencer of when his mother was around. 

“Of course, I’ll see you around?” She concludes, clearly waiting for a response before making her departure down the stairs and into the student parking lot. He nods earnestly, staring up at her.

“See you around.” He agrees. Satisfied, he watches as she makes her way down the few flights of stairs. He’s just about to contemplate heading down to the Arts wing of the school to seek out Hotch and Penelope to see if his siblings are ready to go home yet when he realizes with a mix of grief and embarrassment that he’s still wearing Alex’s light purple hoodie and a deep blush spreads across his face.

Even though he knows that he’ll most likely see her tomorrow and be able to return the garment, there’s a small part of him that really loves the way the polyester material feels against his skin and the softness of the lavender thread that makes up the sweater. But, Alex is his first real friend and he’s not going to withhold her jacket from her just because he’s suddenly grown very attached to the way it feels draped over his shoulders.

He doesn’t even realize that he’s inwardly referred to Alex as his friend until he’s reached the Arts corridor and is patiently waiting for Hotch or Penelope to emerge and walk home with him. It sounds nice, however, very fitting for the strange new relationship he’s cultivated with the strange new girl. 

His mother would definitely be proud.

xxx 

Hotch had never wanted to fade off of the face of the earth more than he did in the moment when he stepped up onto a dimly lit stage and heard the track to his audition song begin to play softly. 

He squinted through the overhead stage lights in a poor attempt to make out a single recognizable face in the audience, but his attempts were in vain and he missed the intro to his song. Of course, the theatre teacher had pardoned him and granted him the ability to try his intro another time, but that was were his good luck seemed to end for the evening. He had tripped over the words, forgotten the second verse of his 32-bar cut, and definitely sang way too quietly for anybody past the third row to hear him.

So, one could only imagine his outright shock when he strolled up to school the next morning to check the callbacks listed posted outside of the auditorium to see his name listed amongst several others under a line entitled “male ensemble”. He was in utter disbelief at the sight. He had definitely just given the worst rendition of ‘What I Did For Love’ in the last thirty or so years, but there was his name printed in black ink on the list, sandwiched right between a Grant Anderson and a Josh Hunt.

“How did I—-? This doesn’t even...I-I, why?” He splutters aloud, gaze still magnetically fixated on the list before him. Penelope, who was fending off the hordes of eager auditioners attempting to see the list, heaved a sigh.

“They need guys. Desperately. It’s not like they weren’t going to call you back.” She points out with a huff of indignation, a very stark contrast to usual neverending perkiness. Hotch almost turned to her to ask what was wrong but received his answer as his eyes scanned the rest of the list and noticed a certain name absent.

“Pen, I’m sorry. I know you were interested in this too.” He sighs, shoving his hands into his pockets and taking a step back from his main vantage point of the list to allow some of the other kids a chance to look it over. He placed an arm around his younger sister’s shoulder and led her away from the bulletin board where she was getting shoved aside anyway due to her 5’1” stature. She manages a weak smile in his direction.

“That’s okay. I can always run lights or something. Maybe Ms. Brent will let me stage manage.” She shrugs, perking up only slightly at the notion, although Hotch can tell she only does this for his benefit. He’s just about to offer to walk her to her first class, still riding on the elation of actually seeing his name on a callback list and getting closer to the opportunity of actually talking to Haley Brooks on a regular basis, when something stops him.

Or rather, someone stops him.

“Hey, congrats on the callback!” An all-too familiar voice from over his left shoulder calls and although he knows that it could honestly be directed towards anyone in the immediate vicinity, he feels as though the sun’s crepuscular rays seem to shine only on him and the owner of that voice as he turns around to face her, unable to hide the pure joy from his usual stony expression.

“Hey, thanks! You too.” Is what he attempts to say. What actually comes out is more like:

“H-yeah. Thanks, y-yeah.” 

In terms of quality, he ranks that sentence just slightly above his whispered version of his audition song from the night prior.

Luckily Haley only brushes off his social ineptitude with a brief smile, flipping her blonde hair out of her face. Being around Haley, although definitely desired, is not always a logical situation for him. He lives his life by the ideologies instilled in him from a young age that everything has a solid answer, much like a math equation. So, when introduced into a foreign and unfamiliar scenario such as navigating the murky waters of teenage driven hormones, he’s not exactly sure how to contain his ever-fluctuating emotions. At home and in class there are clear answers to (almost) every question that arises, but with Haley, he suddenly feels his brain turn to jello and sixteen years of self-preservation skills fly out the window. It’s a terrifying thought, really, to want to put himself through that, but he can’t resist the idea of being around her more. 

“Ah, what did you get called back for?” He tried again, slightly more coherent in the conversation now that he can allow the feeling to return to his tongue. Haley, who stands a few inches shorter than him, gives a light giggle.

“Mabel,” she supplies with a slight blush. Hotch has absolutely no idea what she’s referring to and it must show on his face because the girl laughs again. “She’s one of the daughters. It’s not really a great show for girl roles, I’m not sure why we’re doing it here.” She shrugs light-heartedly and Hotch nods mutely, despite only processing about a third of what she just said.

“Well..I’m sure you’ll kill it,” He chuckles, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “The callback tonight. In a good way, of course. You probably knew that’s what I meant though I didn’t really need to explain but I just figured that what if you didn’t understand and you were-“ against every fiber of his being he begins to ramble out a neverending explanation to his response and he feels himself snowballing more and more with each word until she finally cuts him off by placing her hand on his arm. 

He nearly dies right then and there.

“Aaron, I got it,” she laughs, pulling her hand away as soon as he falls silent. He inwardly wishes she would keep it there forever. “I think that’s the most I’ve heard you speak in a single sentence.” She adds teasingly in a playful manner and Hotch feels his ears redden at the pseudo-compliment.

“I’ll try to do that more often then.” He resolves with a liberal smile. He feels his heart soar when Haley returns the gesture before bidding him a goodbye and heading over to the commons area to be with her circle of friends. Finally, after a moment of just trying to hold onto the fluttery sensation he always gets around her, he turns back to Penelope who holds a knowing smirk on her face that makes Hotch’s pleasant countenance drop immediately.

“Someone’s got a crush.” She jests in a sing-song tone that aggravates Hotch to no end.

“I don’t have a crush. Maybe you’re delusional.” He teases back. Penelope merely scoffs.

“Oh man, Rossi and I are gonna have a field day with this.” She muses, already skipping ahead in the hallway, most likely to seek out Dave and tell him the recent developments in Aaron’s definitely repressed love life.

He doesn’t bother calling after her to quell the rumors she’s undoubtedly about to spread because, honestly, a part of him wants them to be true. 

And what’s wrong with letting himself feel something every once in a while?

xxx

“Are you absolutely, 100%, totally sure this is a good idea?”

The question itself does not require any clarification but JJ still finds herself a bit perplexed by the query. Well, less perplexed and more like utterly disappointed in herself.

Initially, she really did make an attempt to block out the nagging voice in the back of her mind. She would dismiss the intrusive thoughts as nothing more than mere whims based on childish fantasy and would push the ideas away into the deep recesses of her mind until they no longer bothered her while she lay awake in bed at night. Of course, this proved to be rather unsuccessful because here she is, standing outside of a dilapidated old rental home with a busted up chain-link fence in front guarding a lawn full of dead grass and weeds.

She bites down hard on her lower lip as her sister stands in wait, impatiently expecting an answer.

But, honestly, JJ doesn’t have one. She doesn’t know why that first phone call sent her spiralling into a repetitive cycle of either chastising herself or the failures of her mother. She doesn’t know why she spends her lunch periods in the school library, utilizing the resource computers to try and do copious amounts of research on the elusive Sandy Jareau. She doesn’t know why she approaches Penelope one afternoon that week with the idea of taking the bus across town because she’s lucked out in finding a residential address for the woman she once called her mother. She especially doesn’t know why Penelope agrees to her insane idea in the first place.

But, at least she can be sure of one thing: Hotch can never find out.

She’s all too aware of the disgruntled look that crosses her older brother’s face whenever she’s brought up the idea of contacting her mother since the first phone call from a week and a half ago. He attempts to feign support for the idea and says he’ll even assist her with planning what to say, but she can tell from his clenched jaw and tight shoulders that he isn’t too fond of the idea and its subsequent repercussions.

So, JJ takes what she believes to be the most ethical route: sneaking around behind his back so that she can satisfy her need of having to see her mother, but still not upsetting Hotch in the process. Penelope has graciously agreed to assist in the excursion, but JJ can tell from her anxious body language that her sister also isn’t too sure of the idea.

She takes a steadying breath, attempting to still her rapidly beating heart.

“I-I’m sure,” she lies, sounding anything but. “I need to do this.” She adds and Penelope gives a nod of understanding, but JJ isn’t entirely convinced of her silent agreeing. 

It’s not like she expects much, really. She’s not under the foolish, naive impression that she’s going to knock on the paint-chipped wood door and suddenly be greeted with the image of her perfect, rehabilitated mother. She knows that their relationship is merely just a fragmented series of childhood vignettes, interspersed with traumatic memories that have shaped them both. But JJ has to try, at the very least. She believes at her core that everybody has the propensity for change and growth, so she has to see if her mother can somehow enter her life again in some way. 

Of course she knows all this, but it doesn’t stop her from wishing that her mom could somehow be like all of her friend’s moms who dote on their children with an abundance of love and affection. She’d be lying if she claimed that she didn’t yearn for that, but of course she kept these desires silent. Emily, Penelope, even Hotch had always told her that they would be there for her if she wanted to talk, but she couldn’t consider any positive outcome of a conversation where she basically admitted that if given the ideal opportunity, she would want to be with her real mother. How could she confess her longing for a genuine relationship with a woman who she had never really known? 

JJ doesn’t have the answer to this question, but somebody else might. Which is why she leads Penelope up to the front stoop, blocking out the environmental noise of the neighborhood around them as her heartbeat pounds as if she’d just run a mile on the field. This sudden burst of adrenaline and determination is enough to force her up to the door, raise a single hand, and knock sharply four or five times. She feels the same amount of fierce, unbridled motivation that she gets when she’s in the middle of a close game. It’s this feeling that allows her to keep herself from immediately breaking down as she watches the door begin to inch open. She’s not prepared for the familiar visage that greets her, however, and suddenly all aforementioned courage and determination evaporates in an instant. She feels as though she might vomit with how much the world seems to be spinning around her. She has to literally plant her feet to the concrete stoop below to keep herself from running off as the figure at the door finally speaks a single word:

“Jennifer?” 

Yeah, this was a mistake.

xxx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! please leave a comment if you enjoyed/want to see anything in particular in the future. thanks!


	13. name the stars and know their dark returning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wrote this in like a day, so here’s the next chapter! special thanks to grant anderson, big hondo strauss, and serenghey girl. anyway enjoy the chapter and leave a comment if you liked it/want to see something specific.
> 
> Disclaimer: aspects of this work bear similarities to the separate publication “Patron Saint of Lost Causes”. the author of this work attributes the content in this chapter to the correct source (@themetaphorgirl). Publication of this work is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not replace the intellectual property of the above source. This work is intended for personal, non-commercial use only and the author attributes subsequently reproduced or reconstructed concepts to the original source, all rights reserved.

“So...how have you been?”

The question is surely innocuous enough, but JJ doesn’t have the slightest clue how to answer such a casual query. 

She sits at the dilapidated dining room table that leans towards one corner because of an uneven, wobbly leg. Her mother had led both her and Penelope inside after an uncomfortable greeting, telling them to make themselves comfortable. The rental house doesn’t differ much in size or quality from her foster father’s residence but there’s a clear disconnect between the warmth that spreads throughout her body when she’s at home with her siblings as opposed to sitting awkwardly across a scratched-up table from her estranged mother.

She wants to be honest. She wants to tell her mother everything that’s been running through her mind for the last three years as she envisioned this exact scenario. She wants to at least try to form some sort of feeble connection with the woman. But, her mouth doesn’t seem connected to her brain at the moment, so she can’t.

Instead she just utters a solitary “fine”, because that’s the truth. 

Her mother wrings one of her soft hands around her wrist, a display of a nervous tic that she used to pick up on a lot. She offers a timid smile, her sapphire eyes looking remarkably dull to match her stringy hair. The scent of cigarette smoke sticks to her clothes and all the furniture in the home and JJ doesn’t need to look over to her left to know that Penelope is purposefully breathing through her mouth to avoid the smell of cigarettes that she despises so much.

“Can I get you girls anything?” She offers weakly, but before JJ can dissuade her, she interrupts herself. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she groans, shaking her head with a gentle scoff. “I’m Jennifer’s mother,” she introduces, holding one of her hands out across the tabletop for Penelope to shake, which her sister does with slight reluctance. “Are you one of her friends from school?” She asks and JJ suddenly feels her heart skip a beat.

She didn’t anticipate this area of conversation to arise. She knows that to anybody else in the world she would always introduce Penelope as her sister and nothing less. It’s not difficult to believe that they could be related either, especially considering their matching genetic features; but the courtesy extends to the rest of her siblings too. She would never expect Hotch or Emily to merely refer to her as a foster sibling, downplaying the bonds of their relationship that have been formed over several years. But, she somehow can’t bring herself to give the usual introduction, and this terrifies her. 

It’s not that she necessarily cares about what her mother has to think, but there lies the obvious issue of the fact that she had a sister. Even though Roslyn has been dead for nearly five years now, she was still JJ’s sister and the woman’s daughter. She doesn’t want to upset her mother with the notion that she’s completely forgotten about and dismissed Roslyn from her life, because she hasn’t, but she’s afraid that the statement will come off that way given the extenuating circumstances.

“She’s my...” she begins with obvious apprehension at the daunting task. Fortunately, as she’s sitting there with her mouth slightly agape attempting to scramble for the right words to say, Penelope speaks up.

“Foster sister,” Penelope speaks up, cutting into the awkward introduction. “I’m her foster sister.” The slightly older girl supplies softly and JJ shoots her a remorseful look. However, Penelope gives no indication she’s upset by the incident and merely smiles back. 

Her mother doesn’t seem fazed by the peculiar interaction. 

“Oh! Well that’s great, you two look like you could be related,” she grins, her tone overplaying her excitement by a mile. “I bet you get that a lot.” She chuckles, continuing to rub her wrist with her hand. JJ gets an uneasy feeling in her stomach when she remembers the night her mother broke her wrist after a fight had ensued with her father. Roslyn has brought her upstairs and softly sung her to sleep to drown out the noises of pained screams coming from the kitchen. The unprecedented memory makes her feel sick and she attempts to push through the haze that clouds her better judgement. She came here for a reason so she has to see it through until the end.

“Yeah...sometimes.” She agrees lamely, mentally facepalming at her guarded responses.

Her mother purses her lips, obviously not knowing what to say to break the deep tension that seems to suffocate them all within the confines of the small house. “So, what’s up?” She attempts casually, fervently brushing a choppy lock of blonde hair behind her ear. Her hair looks brittle and bleached from too many poorly maintained dye jobs. “What’s going on in your life right now?” She attempts in earnest, clearly trying to break through JJ’s defenses. 

She considers telling her about her recent soccer games. She considers telling her about her best friend at school, Ashley. She considers telling her that it’s almost the five-year anniversary of Roslyn’s death and almost every morning she wakes up in a cold sweat in the bed next to Penelope, a silent protest on her lips as she dreams of her sister, violated and bloody from years of abuse at the hands of their mother’s ex-boyfriend. 

Instead, she merely asks what she came here to say.

“Mom...why did you call me?” She questions, her soft voice almost inaudible. She doesn’t meet her mother’s impenetrable gaze, opting to stare down at the surface of the table instead.

“What?” Her mother asks with a polite laugh. “That’s a silly question,” she admonishes as if JJ were still a young child, unable to grasp the complexities of such a concept. “Why wouldn’t I call you?” She counters, feigning confusion at the very simple query. 

*Uh, cause maybe it’s been four years since you’ve even tried to talk to me? Don’t you think I have a right to be a little suspicious at that?* she muses to herself silently. However, that comment would go over about as well as a tornado in a trailer park, so she restrains herself from retorting with sarcasm.

“But why now?” She demands instead, tearing her gaze away from the table. Her mother’s nervous glance betrays her otherwise collected composure.

“Well...it’s like I told you,” she begins, awkwardly fiddling with the cheap bracelet tied around her wrist. “I just got out of the rehab facility a few weeks ago. I’ve been real good, putting myself through AA and whatnot,” she explains but her voice trails off with uncertainty towards the end. She suddenly stills and shakes her head, breaking her eye contact with JJ to look down at her never idle hands once more. “Y’know this isn’t really an appropriate discussion for girls your age,” she chuckles lightly, clearly attempting to derail the conversation away from her platitudes of recovery. “maybe we should-“ she begins, but JJ doesn’t hesitate to interrupt.

“No. I want to hear,” she asserts coldly, taking a page out of Hotch’s book in regards to maintaining her position in an otherwise futile discussion when she *knows* that the other person is lying to her face. She’s gotten through enough lectures with Hotch now to know how to deal with seeing through lies. “What was the moment that you finally decided you wanted to start acting like a mother again?” She asks, tone bordering on venemous as she leans forward in her seat, raising her brow inquisitively. She watches with morbid intrigue as her mother’s previously casual countenance falters at the obvious challenge, clearly not expecting such a rapid shift.

“Now what is that supposed to mean?” She shoots back, furrowing her brow at the accusation. “I’ve always been your mother, but I had to sober up before I could see you again, you know that.” She declares with a sense of ignorance that JJ finds absolutely infuriating. It’s like the woman doesn’t realize that she’s the one who JJ learned to lie from- of course she would recognize the signs of impudent dishonesty. 

“So you put yourself through rehab, right?” She counters, feeling as though she may as well be grilling her in an interrogation room like the cops on the kinds of shows that Derek watches.

“Isn’t that what I just said?” The frustrated woman points out impatiently. JJ feels a stab of guilt for subjecting Penelope to such a raw, emotional scene, but she desperately needs the moral support of her older sister there, especially considering they’ve had to both skip their Wednesday night clubs in order to make their way across town for this. But she’s well-aware of the fact that if she had come alone there was no doubt that she wouldn’t have been able to survive the situation without breaking down. Even though she knows Penelope avoids confrontation like the plague and prefers to attempt to be friends with everybody on the face of the planet, she still appreciates her comforting presence.

“So, just let me get this straight,” she begins, heaving a sigh. Her mother looks wounded and offended, but JJ persists in pursuit for answers anyway. “You haven’t reached out at all in the last four years in any capacity, I’m guessing you somehow got the phone number you called me at from an old conversation with my social worker judging by the fact that you haven’t had any recent contact with her or else I would have heard about it, and you’re magically sober and want to come back and be my Mom all of a sudden?” She lists with ease, counting off each topic on her fingers. “That just doesn’t make any sense.” She points out, confidence unwavering even as her mother narrows her gaze with anger.

“Watch your tone,” she corrects and JJ bites back a bark of cruel laughter at the poorly executed reprimand. “And I’m not “magically sober”, rehab takes a lot of work and a lot of time and-“ she starts to launch into a clearly falsified spiel about her recovery, but JJ isn’t about to sit down and listen to another blatant lie.

“Does it? Because according to you, you were at the rehab facility for what? The last five months before you got clean?” She argues dangerously. Her mother, stubborn as ever, doesn’t deviate from her fabricated story and merely gives a solitary nod. “Okay, so then why was it that when Penelope and I looked you up online we saw pictures and videos of you on Facebook like last week at clubs and bars with some guy?” She denounces openly, knowing that she’s struck a chord of realization as she witnesses her mother’s glare drop entirely with the recognition of the fact that she’s been caught in her own fib. “I’m not sure about what goes down at rehab and AA meetings but I’m pretty sure that’s not it.” She half-jokes, but her tone is too mirthless to find any trace of humor in her statement. Her irritation is more-so directed at the fact that her mother believed her to be some naive child who would just accept any idea she was spoon-fed without investigation. As soon as she heard the varied claims of her sobriety over the phone a week and a half prior, JJ knew that there was something suspicious about the entire situation. Her prior research on the school library computers only validated her concerns. 

Her mother regards her with soft concern before speaking once more, clearly despondent over her daughter’s response.

“Jayje, I-“ she begins but doesn’t get the chance to finish before JJ is cutting her off.

“Don’t,” she snaps, trying to ignore the way her breath hitches at the moniker and the way her voice wavers as she speaks. She feels the boiling rage inside of her only grow at the unprecedented nickname. “Don’t use her name for me. You don’t get to do that anymore.” She declares with emotional authority. She watches the woman’s mouth twitch as if she wants to respond, but holds back for a moment.

“Jennifer,” she tries once more after a deep inhalation. “Those are...what you saw...they’re old pictures. I swear to you that I’m-“ she attempts to reassure her daughter but JJ can feel the rage spill over, as well as the hot tears that have been threatening to fall from her eyes for the last few minutes of this aggravating confrontation.

“Why are you always lying?!” She hisses, nearly choking on the growing lump in her throat. She barely recognizes the sensation of Penelope’s hand on her shoulder until she registers a comforting squeeze. “It’s obvious that you’re just the same old drunk you used to be and you don’t care who gets hurt as long as-“ she begins an impassioned rant on the subject, failing to maintain an emotionless argumentative state. She’s not Hotch or Roslyn, she can’t contain herself when it comes to something she’s so fiercely defensive of. That often proves to be her downfall, as indicated by the furious tears streaming down her reddened face. 

“You have no right to go looking through my personal business!” The woman shouts, slapping her hand down on the table which causes Penelope to startle beside her. JJ, however, is used to the sound considering she grew up with it. She wipes a trembling hand across her face, glaring daggers at her mother’s head.

“Oh, but you can just call me up anytime of the day and derail my life because you need something right? What is it? Money for drugs? Alcohol? Do you have another boyfriend who kicks you around unless you give him your whole paycheck?” She challenges hastily, voice bordering on shouting. She knows it’s a low blow to bring up, but she can’t quell the fury inside her when she sees her mother’s unrecognisable face and she certainly cannot comprehend that audacity that the woman has to disrupt her life after she’s finally begun to reach a point of acceptance.

“JJ,” Penelope sighs softly, clearly torn between petrified silence and trying to diffuse the precarious situation. “Maybe we should-“ she begins to offer up a solution but she’s not able to finish her thought.

“You do not speak to me like that!” The woman across the table cries, her own expression showing her hysteria. “I am your mother!” She asserts violently, a few impassioned tears falling from her eyes. 

JJ doesn’t even realize she’s pushing back her chair in a huff and rising to her feet. It doesn’t even register in her mind that she’s the one shouting until she hears her own voice, emotional and raw with the pain she’s kept bottled up for too long.

“No! You’re not!” She shouts, throat aching as she blinks back tears. “You stopped being my Mom when you let him take Roslyn! And now she’s dead! You’re not my mom, you’re not anybody’s mom!” Her body is screaming at her with warning bells and red alert signals when she sees her mother’s visage shift from impassioned anger to unrelenting pain. She doesn’t even realize the depth and honesty of her words until they finally leave her mouth and she merely stands there in the middle of a complete stranger’s kitchen. A complete stranger who she used to call her mom. 

Within an instant she’s already pushing herself away from the table, knowing that Penelope will follow without a word. She sees a pale, trembling hand reach across the tabletop to stop her from moving but she rips her own hand back, not even looking up as she runs a sleeve across her face to purge her heated skin of any tears.

“Jennifer...I-“ a timid voice begins but JJ shakes her head wordlessly.

“Just don’t. Don’t touch me, don’t call me or my family ever again. Penelope, we’re leaving.” She orders coldly and without another word or a backwards glance at the woman she just screamed at, she’s heading out the front door and slamming it harshly behind her. The rattling door frame and the harshness of the final thud in her ears serves as the only physical reminder of what she just went through as she steps back into the late-afternoon sun, the breeze rustling the dead leaves on a few surrounding trees in a haunting melody. 

Outside, everything feels remarkably lighter. She sucks in a deep breath, suddenly feeling like it’s her first inhalation in the last twenty minutes.

They begin their solemn walk back to the bus station they arrived at a half-mile away. JJ plaintively kicks a pebble as they share a companionable silence, needing some form of external stimulation to take her racing mind and pounding heart away from the volatile conversation they just endured. It’s not until about five minutes after their departure from the seedy neighborhood does Penelope finally speak up, cutting the tension with her empathetic voice.

“Are you okay? That was...intense.” She asks kindly and JJ spares a reassuring smile in her direction, although something about Penelope’s face tells her that the gesture isn’t exactly effective. She sighs, shoving her hands into her front pockets to avoid further scrutiny.

“I...I’m,” she considers lying. Providing some meaningless platitude to assuage her sister’s fears, but she knows there’s no point. Besides, if she lied that wouldn’t make her any better than the very woman she just exploded at. She knows better than to let herself turn into somebody like that. “I will be,” she sighs, feeling the weight of the world begin to fall from its previous position on her shoulders as she admits that maybe for once, everything isn’t okay. “I just want to go home,” she admits, knowing that the statement has never been more true. She wants to help Hotch make dinner, listen to Emily teasing Derek, and let Spencer tell her a million different facts about whatever new subject he’s learned about that day. She just wants her family to comfort her, like a family should. “Thank you, for being there with me. I’m sorry you had to see that, I didn’t mean to react like-“ she begins to apologize fervently, but Penelope doesn’t hesitate to stop her before she can get any further.

“JJ, it’s okay,” she promises with a knowing smile. JJ visibly relaxes at the sentiment. “That’s what sisters are for.” She beams.

JJ has to bite her lip to keep from crying as they board the bus and finally head home.

xxx

“So, now you’re in the musical?” 

“So, now I’m in the musical.” 

The cast list, having been posted that morning, has proven to be a relatively lucrative conversation starter all day. He dragged Rossi to the theatre classroom with him once they arrived that morning to scan the bulletin board and search for his name amidst the other students that had been at callbacks the night prior. He wasn’t exactly shocked to see that every guy who was called back was also cast, but he was a bit surprised to see his name printed under the title of “Pirate #4”. It was an exciting notion, despite Rossi’s teasing remarks, and he received a few congratulatory comments from kids who he had never even spoken to despite attending Madison Heights since freshman year. However, the only comment that mattered was the squeal of excitement that came from Haley, who had been cast as one of the few female leads, when he informed her that he was going to be in the show as well.

“Great! We’ll get to hang out more often!” She cheered excitedly and he swore he could have swallowed his tongue at the notion that she was somehow overjoyed at the concept of hanging out with him. He felt like he was walking on air all morning, heart still rushing from the surge of dopamine he received from her single comment. 

So, of course he had immediately brought up the subject to Gideon when he entered the classroom Wednesday during lunch for their now strange bi-weekly...conferences? He wasn’t sure exactly what they could be called, but he was sure of the fact that he was beginning to open up more in the presence of his English teacher as they dutifully worked after eating lunch each day to clean off the remainder of his bookshelves and reorganize his entire collection. So, every Monday and Wednesday he spent his lunch hour with Gideon rather than in the cafeteria with Rossi. If he was being honest, it was a bit of a reprieve from the chaos of a student lunch hour as well. He hadn’t wanted to exclude his best friend so he had invited Dave to come along with him, but as he expected, his reaction was anything but enthusiastic. 

So, Aaron merely came alone, and that was fine by both of them.

Although Gideon was still the same stringent, over-working teacher he had been before their lunch meetings, the time spent alone engaging in discussion with him outside of a classroom setting did a lot to humanize him in Aaron’s eyes. It definitely made being in his class loads more bearable, even if the man did have an annoying propensity to call on him more often now because Hotch was no longer able to merely hide in the back with Emily and Dave. 

“Well, congratulations,” Gideon begins with a warm smile. “An interesting extra-curricular choice for you, but I’m sure it’ll be a great addition for your college applications when the time comes.” He adds wisely and Hotch merely nods, glad that he was content with the answer he had given him when first asked about his desire to audition. Rossi and his siblings obviously weren’t as eager to accept his purely academic reasoning.

“It’s just a small part, really. Pirate #4.” He chuckles, scratching the back of his neck with modesty. Both he and Gideon had finished their lunches and were sifting through the english teacher’s collection of Dickinson poetry volumes, trying to order them by date of publication. 

“Of?” Gideon asks with moderate intrigue and it takes Hotch longer than he’d care to admit to realize that the man was wondering how many other ensemble members he shared the title with.

“Like...15?” He guesstimates, trying to picture the cast list size in his brain. However, for some reason he can only see his name and Haley’s illuminated amidst a sea of other students. 

“Well, I’m sure it’s better off to be Pirate #4 than Pirate #15, but what do I know?” Gideon postulates with a small laugh. Hotch carries a few books over to the growing stack that rests on one of the desks nearby.

“I think they had to give me the smallest part possible because of my work schedule, but at least I can do both,” he points out, casually omitting the fact that he was also probably the worst auditioner by far. “And this way Rossi won’t have any pictures to blackmail me with other than me just wearing a Pirate costume.” He scoffs, coursing one of his hands through his dark hair. He’s pretty sure Rossi will find a way to blackmail him anyway, knowing that his best friend had an interesting affinity for photoshop.

“David wasn’t interested in doing the show, I assume?” His english teacher wonders aloud and Hotch almost chokes on a stifled laugh. He had definitely tried in vain to get Rossi to audition with him, but events transpired about as well as they had when he asked Rossi if he wanted to eat lunch in Gideon’s classroom with him. 

“He said his talents are better utilized backstage where he can-“ Hotch begins with a growing smirk, but Gideon clears his throat loudly to cut him off.

“Don’t bother, I can fill in the blanks myself and I definitely do not want to.” The man shudders dramatically and Hotch gives a sympathetic nod. Rossi is definitely an acquired taste for most people. 

“Well, y’know, not everybody is cut out for theatre.” He jests sarcastically. He knows that he definitely would never even consider the option of auditioning for a musical if it hadn’t been for the addition of Haley Brooks to their junior class. Gideon, of course, is not aware of this fact.

“Well, I’ll admit, I didn’t expect you to have an interest in it either.” The man shrugs, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose as he inspects the inside cover of a particular worn book. Hotch almost naturally feels his ears redden and tries to nervously laugh his way around the too-accurate observation.

“Y’know me...big fan of the whole Broadway scene...” he fabricates, voice trailing off with uncertainty as he realizes that he has no other external knowledge of anything even remotely related to the subject. Gideon raises an eyebrow inquisitively, the corners of his mouth upturned into a knowing smile.

“Is that so? No other reasons?” He questions with a knowing air that says more than it needs to.

*’Oh, jeez. Change the subject, change the subject, change the subject.’* he groans inwardly, eyes darting frantically around the classroom area to try and find a frivolous topic to address and steer the attention away from the obvious. His eyes land on an intricate and ornate picture frame mounted on the wall adjacent to one of the many bookshelves before them. Perfect.

“So birds, huh? That’s interesting. What’s going on with that?” He chuckles nonchalantly, leaning up against one of the desks. Gideon’s teasing glance flickers towards the framed painting he’s referencing and his gaze seems to soften at the sight.

“Ah, it’s a John James Audubon,” The man explains but the name doesn’t register with Hotch who merely furrows his brow. “A famous ornithologist and painter,” Gideon adds to clarify his introduction and Hotch nods silently. “This is a plate from his most famous volume of Birds of America. The Tree Sparrow. It was donated to me by one of my old professors who knew of my fascination with different bird species.” Gideon expounds, fondly gazing at the framed image of the sparrow. The rest of his classroom isn’t devoid of bird photographs and statuettes either, but Hotch had never been given the opportunity to ask him about his affinity for avian life before. By liberal estimates there were about 30 or so different birds in various art forms decorating the small classroom.

“Bird species. Never would have guessed.” He quips with ease, surprising even himself with his very open and blatant satirizing of his English teacher. Gideon raises a single eyebrow at the joke, probably just as nonplussed at Hotch’s comfortable jest. To those who aren’t as well acquainted with him, the words “Hotch” and “joke” typically tend to be antonymous. 

“Yes, I definitely wear my obsessions on my sleeve. Not unlike your undeniable passion for the theatre that I’ve definitely heard of before today.” Gideon retorts with a hint of a grin on his weary expression and Hotch takes a small sense of pride in making the older man laugh. 

“Where did you go to college?” He questions, slightly interested in the answer but more interested in shifting the conversation away from him and theatre once more. 

“Georgetown,” Gideon supplies casually and Hotch does little to mask his own expression of shock and intrigue. Considering Hotch has envisioned attending that very university for the majority of his life and has basically mapped his entire future career around the prospect of attending there, it’s safe to assume he grows a bit excited at the mention of the university’s name. Gideon doesn’t fail to recognize this immediately and provides a knowing smile. “You have some interest?” He asks rhetorically before refocusing his attention back to the stack of books he’s kneeling over on the linoleum tile.

“It’s uh...well it’s just my first choice university is all,” he chuckles, greatly downplaying his pseudo-obsession with attending the famed school. Georgetown for him was what physics was for Spencer or what football was for Derek. He was more than well-informed on everything that had to do with the school and he could probably rattle off facts and statistics in a similar manner to Spencer’s ability. “For law that is,” he adds, clarifying his intended course of study. “I have backup schools, obviously, and I still have to take my SATs this year and everything. I don’t even know if I could get in there, I mean, I’ve heard it’s incredibly-“ he begins to ramble, but Gideon doesn’t seem to mind. He merely interrupts as Hotch struggles to find the right descriptor for his sentence.

“Uptight?” Gideon finishes with a knowing look. Hotch gives a surrendering nod.

“Well, yeah,” he shrugs. “That and it’s a bit expensive.” He adds casually, kneeling down to pick up another volume to organize as he speaks. The prospect of discussing financials with his English teacher makes him a bit wary and he tries to focus his attention onto sorting in order to maintain a rather aloof demeanor when it comes to an incredibly touchy subject. 

“Ah, I see,” Gideon acknowledges, but Hotch doubts he really understands the depth of the sentiment. “But I don’t think you should limit yourself by your financial prospects. You’re bright and dedicated, there’s no reason you won’t have your pick of schools to choose from.” The man points out and Hotch feels his jaw clench a bit. If only it were that easy. He figures for some students it actually is as simple as just obtaining a relatively high GPA and applying. Some students don’t have to stress about doing everything in their high school careers to a maddeningly perfect degree so that there’s absolutely no tarnishes on their records that would deter colleges away from granting them a full scholarship. Some students just apply, get in, and pay- simple as that. Hotch is clearly not ‘some students’.

“Thank you, but unfortunately unless I earn a full-ride scholarship, it’s basically out of the question,” he sighs, breaching the topic he was really not really anticipating discussing that day. “I don’t exactly have much in the way of a college fund,” he explains hastily, scoffing at the idea. “Plus, Georgetown is only 2 hours or so away from here so if my siblings ever need me, I’ll be right there.” He adds, attempting to end the sentiment on a relatively positive note. Of course that’s not the only reason he’s become so attached to the idea of attending the prestigious university, but it definitely is a factor in his decision-making process.

“I assume you have a backup plan in place for all of your university options?” Gideon questions and Hotch gives a knowing smirk.

“It wouldn’t be me if I didn’t.” He points out and his teacher scoffs in agreement.

“Enlighten me.” He implores and Hotch nods, wondering silently why the man is so interested in the first place.

“Well, if I get into Georgetown after next year then I’ll dorm there with Rossi, of course,” he begins, automatically reciting the ideas he’s dedicated to memory by now after having written them down and edited them in excruciating detail for about two years now. “Emily and I both graduate and turn 18 next year, but she’s more interested in studying government and foreign affairs so she’s aiming to go to VSU as a political science major and then-“ he’s about to launch into Emily’s plans to study abroad in France or Italy when Gideon interrupts with an unprecedented bark of laughter.

“And are these your plans or Emily’s plans?” The man asks, having been very-well acquainted with Emily’s particular work ethic. Hotch grimaces light-heartedly, thinking of how to word his response without inadvertently attacking his sister.

“Do you think that Emily would plan something?” He deadpans sardonically and Gideon chuckles again, clearly still amused by the idea.

“Fair point,” he responds through his laughter. “Continue.” He permits and Hotch does so, steering himself back on track to discussing his well-developed post-secondary plans.

“So when we graduate we’ll both be close by for the most part. By that point Derek and Spencer will both be seniors...or the equivalent of seniors, because Spencer will be twelve at that point. So then Derek takes care of Spencer and our two younger sisters until he graduates and goes to Northwestern on an athletic scholarship and Spencer wants to go...well he’ll probably go wherever they’ll let him get a doctorate degree by 17.” He recites with ease, concluding his spiel on his brothers with a slight laugh. Spencer has his heart set on attending CalTech, but the idea of his little brother traveling so far away for college doesn’t bode well with him, so he tries to keep an open mind about any of the Ivy League schools that Spencer will no doubt be interested in attending. Gideon, much like the rest of the Madison Heights faculty, is most likely well informed on the subject of his brilliant younger brother, and merely gives a perceptive nod. 

“Anyway, by the time they graduate I’ll be a junior studying pre-law so I’ll get an apartment by school, probably with Dave, and apply to be my younger sisters’ guardian so they’ll have somewhere to live. By that point they’ll be a sophomore and a senior in high school so by the time I’m a freshman in law school, all of us will have graduated and gone to school.” He concludes his less-than-succinct explanation, trying not to appear too proud of his thorough five-year outline. He’s poured a lot of work and precious hours into the proceedings ever since he was first faced with the harsh reality of the fact that he would somehow have to remain the caretaker of his siblings even after graduating high school and aging out of the foster system. He couldn’t possibly fathom allowing Penelope or JJ to remain in that household without the presence of him or Emily or Derek to keep them in line and on track; not to mention the obvious fact that clearly somebody had to be around for Spencer and take care of him until the boy was an adult. Hotch was still secretly advocating for his youngest brother to suddenly change his mind about attending CalTech and instead opt to going to Georgetown to be closer to him, but he knew that everyone had to leave the nest at some point. Depressing as it may be, it was certainly inevitable in a sense.

Gideon didn’t look as impressed as Hotch anticipated he would be. He appeared more contemplative as he began to process the teenager’s in-depth analysis. His brow furrowed in deep thought before he spoke once more, the silence proving to be very unnerving for Hotch.

“And I’m assuming you’re not going to deviate from this plan in any sense?” The man suddenly asks, his tone rather assuming. Hotch isn’t entirely sure of the context of what he’s implying so he merely shrugs. He’s under the impression that his practical guide was relatively clear- there’s not usually an abundance of questions following such a strong proposal. 

“Well, Derek might be more interested in Notre Dame than Northwestern but unless he gets his grade up in Geometry than he’s probably not going to go there.” Hotch scoffs, his answer clearly not appeasing the English teacher who is quickly becoming his mentor. The frown lines on his forehead increase as the older man scowls, clearly trying to choose his next words carefully as he hesitates with his response.

“What I mean is are you unwilling to accept any change in the plan at all?” The man sighs wearily, further breaking down his query. “Say...if Emily suddenly decides she wants to move to Ohio and work on a farm, what would be your response?” He attempts vaguely and Hotch feels his heart skip a beat. Clearly the man his gauging his ability to react to sudden shifts in priorities and he knows deep down that his answer should be something along the lines of: “yes, I’m a well-adjusted individual who can handle change”, but there’s a nagging anxiety in the back of his mind at the sudden prospect of Emily mentioning to Gideon that she’s suddenly no longer on board with the plan. 

“Did she...mention something like that to you?” He ventures warily, knowing he’s given the wrong response as Gideon heaves a sigh. 

“No, Aaron- I’m just asking what you intend to do if something changes unexpectedly,” The man begins with only slight impatience. The whole interaction is eerily reminiscent of when Hotch has to lecture Spencer on certain social cues. He isn’t sure he enjoys being on the receiving end of the lecture either. “You can’t plan for everything, especially not the decisions of others.” His teacher informs sagely, and although Hotch knows he’s technically correct, there’s also the fact that Hotch can absolutely attempt to plan for the decisions of others if the people in questions just so happen to be his siblings. They operate, on most days, like a well-oiled machine but only because he knows in-depth how they all function and how they can work together to optimize their personal success. That’s why he remains in charge and not Emily despite the fact that she’s close by in age— he knows how to lead them without fail.

“I suppose we’ll just have to cross that bridge when we come to it.” He supplies through a tightly clenched jaw. He doesn’t like his worldview being challenged, especially not on topics he speaks with authority on. Especially when it comes to the safety and well-being of his siblings. He figures he’s allowed to be a little defensive.

“I don’t mean to criticize,” Gideon states, but Hotch can’t help but see right through the claim. “but you should probably take into account the possibility of somebody involved in this plan having their own opinions. Not everybody is always going to comply with your leadership, flawless as it may be.” The man asserts in his analysis and Hotch is about two seconds away from a biting retort when the tinny three-beat screech of the school bell signals the end of the lunch period. He manages to take in a steadying breath, convincing himself not to react in a volatile way. He knows that Gideon is only attempting to be painfully honest with him, but in all honesty, the man isn’t his father or anything. It’s not up to him to contradict and scrutinize Hotch’s plans when he doesn’t really have a clear understanding of his family’s dynamic. Of course, Aaron knows he should allow for some disparity in his stringent lifestyle, but being the oldest sibling and stand-in parent is a full time job. If he becomes too lenient, everything will fall apart like wet bread. It’s up to him to hold it together so he can’t really allow for the opportunity of change while he’s balancing school, work, extra-curriculars, and caring for all of his siblings in one way or another. 

He silently gathers up his backpack from the desk he dropped it at when he first arrived in the classroom at the beginning of the period. He suddenly doesn’t regard Gideon as warmly as before as he straightens up, slinging his bag over his right shoulder.

“I’ve got to get to my next class, sir. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He mumbles, purposefully addressing the older man as ‘sir’ even though he’s well aware that Gideon isn’t a fan of the title. He watches his teacher grimace as he pulls himself into a standing position as well, rising from the way he was kneeling over his books. His gaze lingers in Aaron’s for a brief moment before he pulls away and begins to make his way back behind his own desk. 

“I wish you the best of luck, Aaron.” The man informs him honestly. Hotch gives a solitary nod before he exits the classroom in silence, soon finding himself swept up into the sea of students already occupying the crowded corridor as the period changes. He knows Gideon is right, of course, but does he have to be so downright condescending about it? Does he have to try and pretend like he understanding every intricacy of Aaron’s life and attempt to mentor him in each category? 

He’d be lying if he said that he honestly hated the man for it though. Although it’s painful to admit, there are times Hotch longs for somebody to watch out for him in the same regard that he watches out for his younger siblings. But longing is futile, especially when he has to do what he can to survive each day. When he has to be the rock for all of his siblings to depend on in an unstable situation, there’s no time to wait for somebody to be his rock as well. But really, it’s fine. It’s only a matter of time before he’s out on his own in the real world, he doesn’t have time to mourn what could never be.

Even if that means he doesn’t rest until the day he graduates. For his family, he’ll do whatever it takes.

xxx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unhealthy coping mechanisms from Aaron Hotchner. who is surprised? anyway hope you enjoyed the chapter and please leave a comment below if you did!


	14. pull me out from inside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YES I FINALLY FINISHED THIS CHAPTER UGH IT TOOK SO LONG BUT ITS DONE. okay anyway tw: for implied assault of a minor and tw: for Carl Buford. it is referenced vaguely but NOT shown or described for obvious reasons. also this chapter was so sad to write :,( I hope you guys enjoy. ALSO yes i did read ur suggestions/comments from the last two chapters and i will be implementing ideas from those in the next chapter! please continue to leave comments if you like this story/if you want to see something. thanks to erin for motivating me to write and curing my block and always giving good feedback even tho she’s a demon. this chapter is dedicated to Nicki Minaj
> 
> Disclaimer: aspects of this work bear similarities to the separate publication “Patron Saint of Lost Causes”. the author of this work attributes the content in this chapter to the correct source (@themetaphorgirl). Publication of this work is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not replace the intellectual property of the above source. This work is intended for personal, non-commercial use only and the author attributes subsequently reproduced or reconstructed concepts to the original source, all rights reserved.

“Derek, laundry. Not kidding, man. I’m sick of our room smelling like your locker room.”

He’s late, again. Of course. So unfortunately he’s greeted with the domineering presence of his older brother less than two seconds after he makes his way through the front door and drops his backpack and equipment bag by the front door. He knows he’s not supposed to leave his junk around the house but his back is aching from carrying the heavy load the entire walk home and all he wants is a minute or two to sit down in the bathroom and clean himself up.

But that would involve turning on the light and seeing his gaunt, unrecognizable image in the mirror over the sink and he’s not sure he can handle facing himself right now. Especially after the afternoon’s incident.

~

He feels his shoulders pop slightly as he sets the heavy steel bar down a few inches above his head, laying horizontally on the bench after successfully completing a ten-rep set at 50 lbs. on each side. He’s lifted more before, he knows he can do better, but his body is slightly sore and exhausted from a full day of school. He’s got practice in thirty minutes with the rest of the team but one of the older boys on the team offered to help him weight train a bit before they have to hit the field to warm up and do sprints and he readily accepted. 

It’s not a secret to anybody that he’s been eager to fit in with some of the other varsity upperclassmen ever since his recent addition to the team and he constantly worries about being talked about or disregarded merely because of his age and position on the team. Of course, he’s never been one to outwardly express fear or apprehension, but he’s not entirely sure his teammates even care enough to acknowledge that he’s slightly nervous around them. 

No. Instead somebody else picked up on that excited, overeager energy and didn’t hesitate to use it against him. Didn’t hesitate to manipulate him using their position and get him to put what little faith and trust he had initially in them in order to get him alone for the first time. Didn’t hesitate to threaten him if he screamed.

He lays back down, back sticking with sweat to the vinyl top of the bench press seat. He breathes through the searing pain in his shoulders and preps himself for another set. The soreness distracts from anything else he’ll feel that night.

~

“Shit! Derek get your stuff out of the hallway I just tripped over your dumb bag!”

He’s loading up the washing machine with the hamper from his room when he hears Emily swear from the front entrance on the other side of the house. He heaves a sigh as he pours a capful of laundry detergent into the machine and hits start on the dilapidated device, head throbbing right along with the uneven tumbling of the clothes in the machine. 

He takes a deep breath, forcing himself out of the laundry closet and into the sensory assault that is his house at dinner time. He sees Emily at the dining room table sitting next to an upperclassman boy that he doesn’t recognize and tries hard to avoid her menacing glare. Deep down, he knows she doesn’t mean to be so harsh, but it’s hard to think rationally about anything after such a draining day. 

~

“Morgan! Fall back, fall back! What the hell are you doing, man?”

The wind is screaming in his ears as he screeches to a stop on the 35-yard line, panting with the pure adrenaline and minor heat exhaustion. He tugs off his helmet in aggravation as the rest of the world comes to a distinct halt around him. He’s sure by the irritated way his coach his signalling him over that the rest of his team isn’t too pleased with his show of bravado and that if they removed their helmets as well he would be greeted with a sea of death glares that could rival Hotch’s in terms of intensity.

“Yeah, Coach?” He questions, going for the innocent approach as he jogs over to the sidelines where Buford is located in his usual spot, surveying the team with his critical eye. He knows damn well what he did wrong with the chance that he took, but it worked out didn’t it? Why is he being singled out now? 

The answer to his rhetorical question is too obvious and he tries not to make himself sick with the thought of it.

“You think you can go around changing the plays? You think you know better? Think you can coach this team better?” His coach shouts, rage boiling over as he grasps his clipboard and playbook in one hand so tightly his knuckles turn white. Derek has to fight to swallow his apprehension and tear his gaze away from the man’s tightly clenching fist. He feels about two feet tall being lectured so openly and harshly, not to mention the way his heart rate picks up in no uncertain manner as his coach gesticulates wildly with aggression. 

“No sir.” Derek mutters, his monosyllabic response evident of his trepidation. Usually he’d try and offer up a logical explanation if he were being lectured by Hotch or a teacher. This isn’t ‘usually’. 

“You fuck around with my plays again and you can consider yourself out for the next game. We can sub in one of the JV boys if you wanna play hero,” Buford snaps, his dark eyes boring holes into Derek’s head. Derek merely nods, his mouth feeling dryer than a desert as he attempts to swallow. “Get back on that field.” He adds, his tone showing absolutely no trace of forgiveness or understanding. Derek’s heart skips a beat before settling back into a somewhat normal pace as he replaces his mouth guard and helmet and jogs back out to the rest of the team. He feels as though he could vomit right there on the 40 yard line, but there’s some strange sensation bubbling in his chest. Coach Buford had addressed him with such obvious disdain and even a sense of aggravation. It was such a stark contrast to the usual words of affirmation and subtle touches on the shoulder that caused him to shudder with disgust at both himself and the older man. The sudden difference in the way he was being regarding sent a chill rolling down his spine, but also a strange sensation of...hope? Hope that maybe that afternoon wouldn’t be the same as every other day. That he could just pack up his bag, shower up, and leave like every other guy on the team. He’d head home and eat dinner, do his homework, and maybe even have the time and energy to kick a ball around the backyard with JJ and Penelope.

Of course, he shouldn’t have been so naive. He shouldn’t have let himself hope for something so close, yet so attainable. He couldn’t afford to let down his guard for something as impossible as hope.

~

“Derek, you’re on dishes. JJ you dry.” 

The orders are clear and Hotch’s firm tone is unwavering, but he still glances up in protest at the succinct instructions. He drops his fork on his half-full plate, the clatter muffled by the lump of baked chicken and green beans still remaining on his plate. Usually he would have inhaled his food within a record ten minutes, barely pausing between bites to talk or even breath. Nowadays he didn’t have the determination or the strength. Not to mention the fact that if he ate after specific practices he would just end vomiting it all up later in the night. In his opinion it was futile and a waste of food, honestly. 

He felt a surge of uncharacteristic anger as he processed Hotch’s demand. There were days when he knew better than to speak out against his older brother, but there were also days when the injustices of the world seemed to great to sit back and take another proverbial blow. It was so insignificant in the grand scheme of things but he didn’t want to let himself be pushed around in every outlet of his life. He had to fight back sometimes, if only in order to save himself from a perpetual state of self-pity.

“That’s not fair, Hotch! I did the dishes last night!” He snaps, days of built-up rage reaching his surface as he nearly shouts at his unflappable older brother. It’s ineffective to argue with the other teenager sometimes, but he doesn’t feel as though he’s being treated fairly either. Even if sticking up for himself is merely his way of projecting his anger directed at himself in his current situation onto his brother. 

“No you didn’t, I did.” Emily corrects lazily from her corner of the table where she’s still chatting animatedly with her male friend. Derek rolls his eyes, completely ignoring his sister’s inaccurate claims.

“I’m not doing dishes two nights in a row.” He asserts, chest puffing up with self-perceived dominance. Hotch’s frown lines deepen and the too-evident bags under his eyes reflect under the dim dining room/kitchen lighting. Derek feels a momentary pang of sympathy for only further adding to his brother’s stress, but he’s had one of the shittiest days already. He doesn’t need to add to it by washing everyone’s dirty dishes.

“Well good, you don’t have to. Cause I’m telling you that *I* did them last night.” Emily interrupts just as Hotch opens his mouth to answer. Derek’s glare only grows with the accusation and he turns in his chair to face his older sister. 

“Have you ever considered minding your own business?” He nearly snarls, his tone biting and venomous. He barely registers that it’s him speaking until he notices Emily finally break away from her friend and faces him.

“Have *you* ever considered-?” She almost finishes her thought before Hotch is able to cut in with fierce determination, commanding the situation in a manner that only he can obtain.

“Cut it out, both of you,” he threatens authoritatively, his tone strong enough to silence both Emily and Derek. “The chore chart says it’s your day and JJ’s day for dishes. Just do them and get it over with.” The oldest groans, looking about as exhausted as he sounds at the growing argument. Derek knows that he should just let up and back off if he wants to avoid any further confrontation, but he’s standing at the edge of everything. His patience has become so thin and volatile in the recent months that he can no longer restrain himself from acting on his emotional and physical impulses. Every moment of his life where he’s not otherwise occupied by some activity he feels about two seconds away from bursting into tears and he *hates* himself so deeply for it. So he can’t back off and be the pleasant, agreeable, funny Derek he used to be; mostly because he’s not sure he knows that person anymore.

“Hotch, I did them last night, this isn’t fair,” he sighs, not breaking eye contact with his older brother. He’s just about to protest his logic again when Spencer pipes up from the other end of the table where he’s just scraped his plate clean.

“Actually, Emily’s right. She did them last night, Penelope did them on Monday, I did them on Sunday, JJ did them-“ The youngest boy in the family launches into a detailed explanation of their chore schedule but Derek is too enraged to listen anymore. He feels like he may explode if he sits there for another moment, squinting against the harsh ceiling lighting and trying to block out the ambient conversation and noises to ease his dull headache. He pushes back his seat with a sharp screech against the linoleum tiles, excusing himself silently with a huff as he just turns and makes his way down the hall to his bedroom. He can’t be there right now. He can’t sit amongst his siblings and try to pretend like he isn’t breaking to pieces inside because he’s holding onto a secret way bigger than himself that could destroy everything if he uttered a word about it. He can’t try and pretend like he’s normal after what he’s let somebody else to do him.

He can’t keep living like this. He doesn’t want to.

The realization of that is what drives him to tears that evening alone in his bedroom. But, ten minutes later when Hotch knocks on the door and tells him to either finish his dinner or start washing the plates and silverware with JJ, he wipes all evidence of depression and helplessness from his countenance. 

He can deal with this on his own. He doesn’t need to drag any of his siblings into his problems and try to force them to fix things for him. He can handle it, at least until he graduates with that athletic scholarship and leaves Virginia forever. His father would want him to be strong, and that’s what gets him through it all. 

However, it’s hard to imagine his father would be proud of him after what he’s done. It’s hard to be proud of himself. He doesn’t see how anybody could be. 

xxx

“And so in the case of the Bohr Model of hydrogen we can find the derivation of the radii by using physics.”

Someone shifts in their desk. Pencils and pens scratch frantically across college-ruled lined paper. Somebody clears their throat three seats behind him. A single click sounds and the slide of the PowerPoint changes to show another brightly colored screen projected onto the whiteboard.

“More specifically by finding the quantized angular momentum of the Bohr model.” 

A stifled yawn. Somebody anxiously tapping the eraser end of their number 2 pencil against the desk. Two voices conversing in hushed whispers in the back corner of the classroom.

He’s just about to raise his hand when the shrill interruption of the bell makes a grating sound against his eardrums and he inwardly cringes. Everything is so *loud* all the time, but especially that stupid, mocking bell. Why does it always feel like somebody’s screaming at him whenever he hears it? The environment of the AP Chemistry classroom does little to help with his already protesting ears as twelve over-excited high schools push back from their desks and engage in eager chatter as the shrieking bell signals the end of the class period and the day.

Their teacher tries in vain to call out instructions over the sound of the students packing up their notebooks and supplies into their backpacks.

“Everyone please come in tomorrow with close-toed shoes and your lab notebooks, we’ll start class in here and head to the lab after the bellwork!” She informs them and Spencer silently scoffs at her attempts, but does feel sympathy for his teacher. Mrs. Weller is a patient woman and he enjoys being in her class, especially considering the fact that Chemistry is his favorite subject this year. 

So maybe that’s why after the rest of the classroom has stampeded from the room that Thursday afternoon in an enthusiastic rush to leave school, he instead finds himself packing up his bag as slowly as believably possible before shuffling up to his teacher’s desk in the corner of the room. Mrs. Weller acknowledges him with a brief smile as she begins to sweep a few haphazardly displayed papers into a more manageable stack. 

Hey, Spencer,” she greets kindly, organizing distractedly as she speaks. “Did you have a question?” The teacher prompts and Spencer suddenly feels the sensation of his mouth going dry. He didn’t think this part through. How could he not think this part through?

“Um, kind of?” He replies vaguely, awkwardly shifting his weight between his feet as he stands in front of her desk. Mrs. Weller seems to pick up on his obvious reluctance to speak and glances up from the neat stack of tests she’s just collected into a pile.

“Okay...did you understand the lesson alright?” She presses and Spencer stifles a laugh. There hasn’t been a day in his AP Chem class where he hasn’t understood the lesson, it probably wouldn’t be a very believable ruse if he suddenly had a problem with grasping the angular momentum of the Bohr model. 

“Yes ma’am,” he confirms. His teacher raises an eyebrow at his statement, encouraging him to continue. He figures it does seem a bit out of the ordinary for him to show up and linger around her desk for a few minutes after the bell, but he has his reasons, foolish as they may be. “I... I just wanted to stay behind and talk about the different applications of Coulomb’s Law in chemistry.” He fabricates rapidly, surprising even himself with the story. Mrs. Weller’s confused gaze seems to soften as he speaks.

“Spencer, you know I’d love to hang around any day and discuss with you but I have to go pick my kids up from school. Maybe another day, okay?” She smiles sadly and Spencer feels his stomach drop with disappointment at the realization that he had to leave the safe confines of the classroom sooner rather than later. He gives a plaintive nod, attempting not to let his despondency show as he shoulders his backpack more centrally and heads to the classroom door a few feet from her desk.

“Okay, sounds good. Thank you, ma’am.” He replies tightly, feeling not at all reassured. He spares a fleeting glance at the analog clock mounted over the whiteboard and has to restrain himself from groaning aloud. His futile attempts to avoid entering the hallway and hopefully wait out the pack of older kids that are no doubt lingering nearby has saved him all but three minutes. Some grand idea that was. He reluctantly pushes open the door handle and steps out into the still-bustling hallways. He holds onto the hope that maybe he can just camouflage himself in the throng of high school students, but eventually they’ll find him. They always do.

Although he dreads leaving the safety of the more crowded main hallway, he does have to get across school for academic decathlon that afternoon, so he begins making his way up to the second floor level. He maintains a death grip on his backpack straps, holding onto the item for security as he sidesteps older kids who look more than willing to trample him just so they can get out the front doors of Madison Heights and claim their long-awaited freedom from the tedious school day. He silently longs for one of his siblings to randomly pop up so he couldn’t ask them to walk him to his club so he could completely avoid any new physical altercations, but he knows that they each have their respective agendas following the bell and that he won’t see any familiar faces until after Decathlon when Penelope will walk him home like every Thursday.

As he departs the more densely populated main hallway and clambers up the stairs to reach the second floor, he keeps up an internal dialogue in order to reassure himself, futile as it may seem.

*’Just get to Mr. Stevens’ room for Academic Decathlon. That’s all you have to do. Easy. It’s easy.’* he muses to himself silently, trying to ignore the gaping pit of fear in his stomach as he mounts the last stair. *’You can do this. It’s gonna be okay. Then Penelope will walk home with me. It’s gonna be okay.’* he reassures himself, feeling a lot more like a man condemned to death row than a kid just walking across school. He’s just about to pry open the door that leads into the second floor hallway when a sudden shout from behind him in the outdoor stairwell sends a jolt of panic down his back.

“Hey! Reid!” The anonymous voice calls but he doesn’t dare turn around to see who could be shouting for him. He knows it’s one of them. It’s always them. He doesn’t hesitate as his fight or flight instincts kick in and suddenly he’s watching from outside his body as he flings open the heavy door and racing inside, lungs burning in protest as he sprints down the deserted hallway. He can hear footsteps closing in behind him but he doesn’t dare slow down, even as he passes Mr. Stevens’ room in a panicked hurry. If he slows down even slightly they’ll be on top of him, pinning him down or dragging him into the nearest bathroom. He reaches the end of the hallway and throws his entire 85 lbs. of bodyweight against the door, pushing it open without a moment’s reluctance as he leads into the next stairwell. 

He skips two steps at a time as he scrambles to reach the next floor, knowing that he may not find a suitable hiding place in time but that he has to try. He just barely registers the shouts behind him over the blood rushing in his ears and the sound of his own panting as he does more physical activity than his scrawny body is used to. He feels nimble fingers reach out and brush his ankle desperately, attempting to pull him backwards. He barely stumbles despite the shock of how close his tormentors really are. His lungs ache and feel as though they may pop from over exertion, but he finally reaches the last flight of stairs and can see the doorframe of the third floor entrance out of the corner of his eye. He’s just about to skip the first two steps on the flight when this time, the hand that had only brushed his ankle through his jeans before succeeds and he feels it clench it’s jaws around his skinny leg like a voracious python. He trips at the sudden contact forcing him to stop and falls forward on the concrete steps. Luckily, his wrists go out in front to catch him from his chin colliding face first with one of the steps.

*’Shit.’*

He tries in vain to scramble out of the significantly older and stronger boy’s reach, but two more furious hands grip his upper arms and pin them behind his back before forcing him into a standing position on the stairwell. They drag him back to the concrete landing below and he inwardly notes with a spike of fear that there are two more boys than usual this time, outnumbering him four to one. He’s still attempting frantically to wriggle out of the grasp they have on him as the leader of the usual group of tormentors, Kyle, approaches him menacingly as his thoughtless cronies restrain the significantly smaller and younger boy. 

“Hey, where you running to? You’re not happy to see us?” Kyle sneers as Reid continues to struggle and the circle of his equally morbid friends laugh right along.

“We haven’t seen you all day, Reid. Where you been?” One of the kids pinning his arms back in a painful hold asks, pushing his back between his shoulder blades harshly, causing the boy to stumble forwards but not far enough due to the fact he’s still being restrained. The four kids close around him like a pack of starving hyenas on a gazelle corpse and Reid bites his lip to keep it from trembling. They know he’s been able to avoid their detection since Monday after school and clearly, they aren’t thrilled by the notion of not having someone younger and weaker readily nearby to torture everyday. At lunch he hides out in the library now with Alex Blake and after school he’ll always stick close by his new friend or one of his siblings to protect him against the wrath of the kids who seem to loathe him for no apparent reason. But, of course, nobody was around to walk with him today and now he’s found himself in a rather unpleasant position. 

*’Don’t show fear, don’t show fear, don’t show fear.’* he reminds himself, desperately attempting to remember the passage on pack mentality that he read in his animal psychology book. His mind, for once, is terrifyingly blank as he scrambles to recall the information. All that he can think of is the fact that he’s cornered by four stronger, older boys and that nobody can hear him scream in a deserted stairwell.

“J-just leave me alone.” He stammers pathetically, cringing even at his own words. A chorus of cruel laughter erupts from the group.

“Well, nobody from that freak “family” of yours is around to protect you right now. It’s just you and us.” Kyle points out tauntingly, jabbing a finger right in the center of Reid’s bony chest. 

“Maybe we should take this into the bathroom,” One of the kids holding his arms suggests as he shakes Reid roughly. “Clearly you haven’t learned your lesson from Monday.” He mocks and Reid writhes in panic at the thought of his head being forced underwater for the second time that week. As the group moves to transport their captive prey up the remaining flight of stairs, he bucks and struggles as they force him to march the few steps that lead up to the third floor. His wrists and upper arms burn and scream in protest from how tightly the older boys are squeezing him. In a last-ditch effort to break free, he gives a solid kick backwards and doesn’t stop repeating the motion until he feels the heel of his worn sneaker connect with the shin bone of one of his tormentors. 

“Shit!” The older boy curses and Reid screams out in pain as the grasp on his wrist tightens to the point where he fears his bone will break under the increased pressure. 

“Get off of me!” He shrieks hopelessly as Kyle glares down at him, standing a threatening foot taller than him.

“Wrong decision, man. Should’ve just stayed still.” He advises cooly and Reid naively thinks that will be the end of it. Of course he’s wrong and within an instant he feels a significantly larger fist connect with his stomach and he’s suddenly gasping for air, struggling to hold himself up as his knees buckle beneath him. He finally feels the release of their impossibly tight grips loosen on his arms and they shove him harshly to the concrete landing. This time, however, his reaction time is imperfectly slow and he doesn’t have ample time to catch himself with his sore wrists as he falls a few inches to the ground. He hears a sickening crack beneath his face but doesn’t feel any pain. Belatedly, he realizes that the crack must have come from his glasses frames, but there’s not much of an opportunity to realize anything else because he can feel the sharp kicks from multiple sources attacking his torso. Futilely, he curls in on himself to protect his feeble figure, but it doesn’t quell the attacks. He gasps for air like a dying fish as he feels assault after assault on his fragile rib cage and back. There are a few shouted words but he can’t make them out over the low keening sound that leaves his mouth involuntarily. 

The attack feels like it lasts forever but logically, he knows that it’s probably only been about thirty seconds before the group is fervently hauling him to his feet again. He just barely registers the sound of the third floor hallway door being cracked open as they force him inside, air conditioned air hitting his skin like a blast. He doesn’t struggle anymore. He doesn’t have the strength. 

“And just to make sure you learn your lesson and don’t go running off to run that big mouth of yours...” one of the indeterminate voices rumbles threateningly as they force his weak body to stumble a few steps forward. He squeezes his eyes shut tightly, fully convinced already that they’re going to bring him into the boy’s bathroom for the second time that week, but the assault on his senses never comes. Precariously, he cracks one of his eyes open, but the sight that greets him is a thousand times worse than the option of getting his head held underwater for a few seconds or minutes. He watches as one of the older teens fumbles with a set of keys as they stand before the easily disregarded supply closet that nobody ever acknowledges. Realization hits him like a bus and suddenly, he’s struggling once more like a rabid dog against his captor’s holds.

“No! No, no please don’t! I-I’m sorry!” He cries out in vain as the cruel sneers and laughter surrounding him only grow in volume as the door is wrenched open and he’s greeted with the sight of an impossibly dark supply closet. His breathing picks up rapidly and he feels his lungs aching in protest at the panic, especially considering the fact that he’s just been kicked harshly in the ribs not thirty seconds before. However, he can’t calm himself down from the edge of a full blown panic attack as the boys holding his arms begin to force his wriggling form into the closet. His attempts to dig the heels of his sneakers into the hallway’s tile to ward off their shoves but he just isn’t strong enough to fight them off. “Please don’t, I-I can’t, please don’t do this! I’m sorry!” He cries, nearing the brink of hyperventilation as they force him further into the pitch-black enclosed space. Despite the tears now streaming freely down his face they don’t repent for even a second. “For whatever I did I’m sorry!” He cries but he doesn’t imagine his words are very coherent due to his short, violent breaths. 

“Have a nice night, freak.” Sneers Kyle. The image of his cruel, cold eyes is the last thing Reid sees before the door of the closet is slammed shut with terrifying finality and the darkness encompasses him like a tomb. Frantically, he reaches out with trembling hands to the doorknob, but the lock clicks with a menacing sound and the realization that he very well may be locked in here for the entire evening settles in. The chorus of teasing, hysterical laughter remains close by for a few seconds but eventually the voices disappear down the hallway and well out of ear-shot. If he could hear anything over his panicked hyperventilating in the closet he’s convinced he would probably hear the door at the end of the third floor corridor open and shut, signifying his only option for escape leaving. 

For a single moment, everything is still in the dark closet. The world ceases to spin as he stands there, stock-still in shock. He doesn’t feel as if he’s still residing in his own body, but more so floating aimlessly outside of it. He doesn’t hear or feel anything and can barely process the fact that there is anything to sense in the pitch-black room. 

Then, he begins to shout.

He rushes forward, throwing his entire body weight against the door. He knows he’s too embarrassingly small to force open the wooden frame, but he isn’t thinking rationally. Nothing is rational about this. He’s not getting enough oxygen as he nearly hyperventilates and fear grips him almost as tightly as his tormentors were on that stairwell. The dark is one of his greatest fears, but how his bullies figured this out he has no clue. Frantically, he balls his hands up into fists and pounds as harshly as possible on the door as he cries out for anybody nearby who could possibly hear his shouting.

“Hotch! Hotch, please!” He shouts at the top of his small lungs, yearning for somebody to hear him from the cramped supply closet. “Anybody! Emily! Derek! Please someone help me!” He sobs now, the effort of crying so harshly wracking his entire body. He continues to pound on the door as hard as possible, not even caring about the pain that resonates through his hands and wrists at the force. “Penelope! Anybody! Hotch! Hotch!” He cries out despite knowing that none of his siblings will be able to hear his panicked shouts. Crying for Hotch is about as useful as calling out for somebody twenty miles away but he continues to do so through his sobs anyway. All he wants in that moment is to be removed from the impossibly dark closet and to see his older brother. No other rational thoughts enter his mind amidst his panic.

The time blurs as he continues his frantic calls for help and he’s not sure as to whether seconds or minutes have passed. Nothing feels solid inside the clutches of the darkness and fear that encompass everything in the small space. His hands begin to ache from the pressure of pounding on the door and his voice turns hoarse from his cries but he doesn’t relent for even an instant. If he gives up, not only is he going to have to spend his night hyperventilating in a dark supply closet, but the tormentors win. They finally break him and his spirit and he won’t allow that to happen in addition to all the other terrible events that have transpired that afternoon. 

“Hotch! Help! Anybody!” He cries out. He’s just about to gulp down another breath to avoid passing out from self-induced asphyxiation when a voice interrupts his thoughts and he literally feels his heart skip a beat at the sound.

“Hello?” A soft tone calls, permeating the all-encompassing darkness of his closet. He blinks a few times, unsure of if he’s actually heard the voice or if he’s merely hallucinating already from lack of oxygen.

“H-Hello?!” He calls back timidly, hesitant to be greeted with deafening silence once more. However, the universe seems to grant him a singular pardon that afternoon and the girl’s voice replies, a bit more steadily and sure now.

“I- Spencer? Is that you?” The girl questions and suddenly he can breathe again as he realizes that he’s not going to be left alone in a closet all night. It takes him a moment to register who the girl is but when he does he feels a flood of relief course through his body. 

“Alex! Alex, it’s me!” He calls, his voice raw from his panicked crying. He throws himself  
up against the door, jiggling the handle rapidly. “They locked me in here! Please get me out, it’s so dark! Please!” He nearly sobs, half in relief and half in still lingering apprehension. The doorknob rattles uselessly as he remembers that a key is needed to open the closet, but that doesn’t dissuade his irrational mind from trying to force it open.

He hears Alex gasp from the other side of his perpetual dark prison. “Spencer I’ll go get someone with a key, it’s locked,” she rationalizes, stating the obvious. “Stay still it’s gonna be okay, I’ll be right back!” She orders and he begins to hear her footsteps start down the hall. The fear of being left alone again terrifies him even if he knows that she has to and he cries out once more.

“No! No, don’t go! Don’t leave me!” he shouts aimlessly as he hears Alex’s footsteps backtrack across the tile and pause at the door once more. He feels bad for being so irrational and childish but he can’t help his current mindset. All he knows is that he can’t possibly last another minute alone in that closet. He reaches up with a shaky hand and wipes his sleeve across his face in a poor attempt to purge his heated skin of any remaining tears. On the other side of the door Alex heaves a deep sigh. 

“Spencer, I’m so sorry, I have to,” she informs him, her voice breaking with emotion. He feels so guilty for putting her through this. “I’ll run right back, it’ll be okay,” she promises softly and he nods despite the obvious fact that she can’t see him do so. With trembling arms he reaches up and wraps himself in a tight self-hug, clinging to the pressure and comfort he desires. “I know it’s bad but I’ll be right back, please don’t hate me.” She barely whispers and he struggles to suck in another breath. He listens intently as her footsteps disappear from earshot once more as she sprints off. His fingers desperately grasp onto his own figure in the darkness, anchoring himself with the sensation of touch until Alex can return. He works on attempting to stabilize his breathing patterns in her absence and counts each time he inhales and exhales.

*One*

Alex will be back soon. He’s sure of it.

*Two*

She wouldn’t just leave him here in the dark. She’s his friend.

*Three*

She’s coming right back. She just needs to open the door.

*Four*

He counts to thirty four inhalations before he hears a key being unceremoniously shoved into the lock and frantically twisted until it makes a satisfying click. The knob turns almost in slow motion and the little sliver of fluorescent light from the hallway finally reprieves him from the neverending darkness he was trapped in for what felt like a lifetime. Before he can even process what’s happening, he’s burying his face in Alex’s familiar soft cardigan and absolutely sobbing his eyes out into her embrace. She wraps him up in a firm but gentle hug, holding his shaking figure as close as possible as he cries into her, revelling in the comfort. 

“I’m right here, shh, I’m here. It’s okay, you’re gonna be okay.” She murmurs gently, rubbing her hands up and down the length of his small, bruised back. He merely burrows closer in her embrace, inhaling her familiar scent of vanilla perfume and shampoo. He knows he’s probably staining her soft cardigan with his damp tears but he can’t tear himself out of her grasp. He needs... he wants...

“Pl-please, I need- I need Hotch,” he manages to vocalize somehow through his outpouring of emotion. Admitting the words makes him all the more miserable and another sob wracks his body. “I wa-aant Hotch.” He cries openly, feeling absolutely pathetic but not caring in the slightest. He’s just been pinned down, viciously assaulted, and locked in a dark closet until he had a panic attack. He figures he’s allowed to seek comfort. 

Alex keeps up the gentle shushing and softly strokes the back of his head from where it rests on her shoulder but she nods. “Okay, Spencer, okay,” she soothes, letting him know that she’s there for him. “Where is he? We’ll find him for you.” She promises as he shudders against her. His stomach revolts as he realizes that Hotch is probably on his way to work right now with Rossi and another sob starts to rip it way through his body before realization strikes him like a bolt of lightning. Today is Thursday meaning that it’s the first rehearsal for the musical that his older brother was just cast in. He sobs anyway, but this time with pure relief at the thought that his oldest brother is actually close by.

“He- he’s, he’s in rehearsals in the theatre.” He cries, voice slightly muffled from his position against Alex’s much taller frame. He barely registers as she bends down and kisses the top of his head through his mop of brown curls.

“Okay, we’ll head down there,” she sighs softly, continuing to stroke his back as soothingly as possible. It’s all very reminiscent of when he would wake up in the middle of the night and retreat into the safety of his mother’s embrace, seeming any form of comfort he could before his father would demand he return to his own bedroom, claiming that five was too old for that kind of behavior. “Can you walk right now or do you want to stay here for a minute?” She proposes gently. He takes a deep, steadying inhale and forces himself out of their embrace first, wiping a trembling hand across his tear-stained face. Since when could school hallway lighting be so comforting?

“I’m okay,” he tries to assure his friend, but judging by the skeptical look on her face he can tell that he hasn’t succeeded. “I’m okay. I can walk. I— I just need-“ he repeats, attempting to voice his longing for his older brother. Alex cuts him off, probably in favor of not seeing him work himself up again. 

“Sh, sh, I know. I know.” She soothes, wrapping an arm around his still shaking shoulders and pulling him close. 

He doesn’t remember much else, which is certainly indicative of his rapidly declining mental state considering his eidetic memory. He allows Alex to lead him down the first floor Arts wing, clinging tightly to her cardigan as they walk. She attempts to keep up a comforting dialogue by talking him through the description of a new book she’s studying for class. 

He doesn’t realize how helpful the white noise of her voice is until they’ve reached the doors of the school’s auditorium where jaunty music can even be heard from the lobby due to the propped open theatre door. His older friend turns to him and says something before walking purposefully into the auditorium but he doesn’t follow. The world continues to spin but he feels as though he’s cemented to that spot eternally. Subconsciously, he wraps his arms around himself in a form of comfort similar to when he was backing himself down from a panic attack in the closet. He barely even registers the flourishing pain in his chest and back or the fact that his glasses are definitely irreversibly broken from his earlier fall. All he feels is a hollow sense of emptiness invading his whole body, causing every inch of him to turn a worrying degree of numb. 

“Hey buddy, what’s up?” 

He tears his tear-filled gaze away from the pattern of the linoleum tiles where he had been focusing all his attention on. Hotch’s usual scowl is replaced with unmitigated concern and his dark brown eyes are stormy with grief. Spencer feels a momentary pang of guilt for forcing the older boy out of a rehearsal to deal with him, but before he can even attempt to form a single word of explanation or apology, he’s pushing himself forward into his significantly taller older brother’s arms, clinging like Hotch is his last lifeline amidst a sea of emptiness. In a way, he supposed that’s entirely accurate.

“Okay, bud, it’s okay.” Hotch whispers tightly, gently lowering himself to a kneel so he can be on the same level as Spencer. His embrace is strong and desperate, arms gripping him as if he’ll fade away if he doesn’t hold tight enough. Spencer feels fresh tears spring up, but whether they’re from relief or sadness he cannot tell. 

“Don’t leave me.” He whispers frantically, almost inaudible from how quiet it is. However, Hotch hears him and merely hugs him tighter, one of his hands tangling itself in Spencer’s curls to hang on even closer as the younger boy burrows into his brother’s neck. 

“I’m not. I’m not going anywhere, kid,” the older boy promises, his voice wavering with unprecedented emotion. “I will never, *ever* leave you,” He swears harshly, a firm but gentle hand rubbing his back in soothing circles. Spencer muffles his sobs against his older brother, uncaring of how it looks to the rest of the world. Alex is the only person nearby anyway and she’s already seen him cry his eyes out once that afternoon anyway. “Shh, sh, sh, you’re okay. I won’t leave you, buddy. I’m right here.” His brother soothes, embracing Spencer as tightly as possible. The younger boy’s bruised ribs protest but he doesn’t dare pull away from the close comfort.

“I just wanna go home.” He manages to choke out, voice absolutely strained and raw from the last half hour of crying and shouting at the top of his lungs. He registers nothing else besides Hotch’s gentle touch and the older boy nodding in agreement.

“Let’s go home, kiddo.” He sighs and for the first time that afternoon, Spencer feels completely at ease. 

xxx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope u enjoyed!! please leave a comment if you did/would like to see anything in future chapters!!


	15. you are my sweetest downfall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay really long but this chapter is the result of a suggestion from commenter “Sweetheart” on chapter 11 and I just thought it was such a good idea that I had to work it into the plot somehow! so thank you for your amazing suggestion and I hope you enjoy this chapter. If you guys want to see anything specific in future chapters I will do my best to work it into the plot if I think it will be a good addition. I love your feedback and I love reading your comments too, so thank you for always being so kind. Enjoy the chapter!!
> 
> Disclaimer: aspects of this work bear similarities to the separate publication “Patron Saint of Lost Causes”. the author of this work attributes the content in this chapter to the correct source (@themetaphorgirl). Publication of this work is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not replace the intellectual property of the above source. This work is intended for personal, non-commercial use only and the author attributes subsequently reproduced or reconstructed concepts to the original source, all rights reserved.

“Hotch. Hotch wake up, man. C’mon you need to get up.”

The gentle luring of an unknown voice is what coaxes him out of a deep sleep that night. In his fatigued state he vaguely registers the feeling of somebody gripping his shoulder through his duvet cover, shaking him roughly in order to rouse him from sleep. He feels almost like he’s suspended between reality and his dreams, not quite able to place his exact positioning or why he’s being forced awake so abruptly.

Then, he’s reminded of the last time somebody was shaking him awake and he basically bolts fully awake. They’re late.

“Shit, did I’sleep through my alarm again?” He mutters, almost incoherently as he attempts to rub the sleep from his eyes. His voice is hoarse from lack of speech and he struggles to open both eyes fully, instead settling for squinting. The hand, which Hotch belatedly realizes belongs to Derek, is removed from his shoulder as he scrambles to sit up in bed.

“No, no dude, it’s like 3am,” Derek sighs, sounding equally as drained. Hotch furrows his brow in confusion as he attempts to process this statement. What the hell is Derek doing up at 3am? “The kid’s sick,” His brother explains with a heavy sigh, explaining the situation before Hotch can ask any questions. “He won’t let anybody help him.” The boy adds. Suddenly, Hotch feels wide awake as he swings both his legs over the mattress and stands up to his full height.

“Where is he?” He demands fervently, concern evident in his tone. His head spins slightly from the initial shock of waking up so rapidly, but the panic he’s experiencing has him more alert and aware than he usually would be first thing in the morning. 

“Bathroom,” Derek supplies succinctly. “Want me to come?” He offers and Hotch gives a single shake of his head as he reaches the door to their bedroom, already left ajar. 

“It’s okay, I got it,” he assures Derek, but it’s clear that his words do very little to assuage the younger boy’s growing apprehension. “Go back to bed, you’ve got school in a few hours.” He reminds him but doesn’t stay long to see if Derek is actually going to follow his orders or not. Within a few hurried strides he’s already at the bathroom they share across the hall. The overhead light is on, creating a dim amber glow that contrasts with the darkened hallway. He’s not in the least surprised to see the door cracked open a bit or to hear his sister’s voice speaking in soft, soothing tones.

“—c’mon Spence, it’ll be okay.” Emily cajoles lightly and Hotch grimaces a bit as he gently pushes open the bathroom door and is greeted with an unpleasant sight. His youngest brother is leaning up against the bathtub’s low wall, his head lolling to one side with his soft brown bangs stuck to his sweat-soaked forehead. His mouth hangs slightly open but what’s infinitely more worrying is the clear digested remains of his dinner smeared down the front of his pajama shirt and across his mouth. The toilet seat is propped open and a wastebasket sits nearby, clearly set there in preparation for another unfortunate bought of sickness. Emily crouches a few feet away from the boy, desperation evident in her tone as she tries to convince the stubborn boy to comply. 

“No, ‘m fine,” the youngest whines softly and Hotch feels his heart twist as how small his voice sounds. His face is scrunched up in pain and his breathing seems shallow and uneven, only adding to both Hotch and Emily’s unanimous concern. “‘m fine, just go away.” He repeats, his words slurring slightly at the effort it takes to speak. Hotch approaches them as softly as possible so as not to upset or startle his brother, but it doesn’t seem to matter much considering how clearly out of it the boy is. Emily shoots him a grim look, one of her hands carding aimlessly through Spencer’s sweaty curls.

“It’ll make you feel better,” the older girl coaxes gently, clearing at her wit’s end. It doesn’t take a genius of Spencer’s level to decipher that Emily is trying to negotiate with the obdurate boy who’s most likely refusing any form of treatment. “Besides we gotta wash your pajamas, kiddo.” She adds fruitlessly. Hotch’s frown deepens as he watches Spencer stubbornly shake his head, adamantly denying whatever Emily is attempting to offer him for relief. He takes it upon himself to grab one of the handtowels from the sink and run it under the cold tap, hoping that he’ll at least be able to wash off Spencer’s face without being rudely shoved away.

“I don’t need it!” He whines a bit louder now and more childish than Hotch has ever heard him. Not in the mood to witness a temper tantrum he hurriedly removes the damp washcloth from underneath the sink and strides over to kneel by his two siblings, shooting Emily a sympathetic look.

“Hey, it’s okay. I got it,” he reassures his sister, taking in the sight of her weary expression and downtrodden mood. She seems unconvinced of his claim but removes her hand from Spencer’s hair nonetheless as the boy writhes and twists uncomfortably. “You should get back to bed.” He suggests calmly, attempting to maintain a cool composure despite his somewhat blatant panic at the sight of his youngest brother. Emily gives a solitary nod, hesitantly rising to her feet. 

“Don’t be surprised if he kicks you when you try to help him,” she advises grimly, although it’s clear she’s attempting for humor amidst an admittedly terrifying situation. “Goodnight, Spence. Feel better, kid.” Emily whispers gently. The youngest doesn’t give any indication he’s heard her and Emily tries to clear her disappointment from her face as she bids Hotch goodnight as well before exiting the cramped bathroom. 

He kneels beside the crumpled form, blocking out the lingering scent of vomit by breathing through his mouth rather than his nose. Tentatively, he brushes away a few loose strands of his hair before maneuvering the damp washcloth onto the boy’s heated forehead. Spencer’s clenched expression almost instantly releases at the sensation of the cool towel and Hotch smiles lightly despite his trepidation. The boy seems to drift in and out of lucidity which worries Aaron immensely, but he attempts to keep up a dialogue in order to distract the kid.

“Hey, buddy. What’s wrong?” He sighs, intentionally keeping his voice pitched low. He can infer from Spencer’s tightly clenched jaw and squinted gaze that the boy is probably suffering from a pretty massive headache in addition to the fact that he’s just rid his stomach of all solid substances from at least the last 12 hours. 

Spencer, however, seems as content to accept comfort as a cactus. Internally, Aaron can guess that his avoidance of admitting he’s sick and needs help probably has something to do with the unpleasant events of last night. After he had turned up at Hotch’s rehearsal in tears, flanked by an upperclassmen that Aaron didn’t recognize, they had collected Penelope from her yearbook club and made their way home. The girl, Alex, who introduced herself as Spencer’s friend had offered to drive them home. At first, Hotch had refused politely but she insisted and after he caught another glance of the emotionally and physically drained boy, he wasn’t about to force him onto the city bus or to walk home. He reluctantly accepted the ride with Alex Blake, who seemed to genuinely enjoy Spencer’s company and abundance of knowledge. 

For the rest of the evening, Spencer was uncharacteristically withdrawn and sullen, vehemently refusing help and instead opting to retreat to their room to begin his homework. He had only emerged to eat dinner and help Penelope with the dishes before meandering back to their bedroom for the remainder of the evening, claiming he just wanted to turn in early. Although Derek and Hotch had found the younger boy asleep just thirty minutes later, it did nothing to ease their concerns about his mental state after experiencing such a traumatic afternoon. 

So, he wasn’t completely shocked when Spencer refused to acknowledge that he desperately needed assistance, much in the same vein as how he had pushed Emily away. This didn’t mean it hurt Hotch any less when the kid refused him. 

“Nothin’ Hotch, ‘m fine. Just let me go back to bed.” His youngest brother mumbles miserably, shifting slightly in his sitting position against the bathtub. He looks as if he intends to stand up despite his shuddering and unsteady breathing and Hotch places a much stronger hand on the boy’s shoulder, careful to avoid the remnants of puke on his shirt, in order to deter him from doing so and exacerbating his current condition. 

“No,” he orders instantly, no longer allowing the boy to entertain the notion that he was as fine as he so adamantly claimed to be. “You’re burning up, so you’re not fine,” he proclaims, purposefully omitting the other details that Spencer was probably well aware of by now. “I’m sure you’re smart enough to know that you probably have a stomach virus and that you’re not going to school today.” He informs him and Spencer’s shoulder tenses underneath his grip. 

“I’m also smart enough to know that you’re gonna force me to take that gross anti nausea medicine that doesn’t even work.” He mutters disdainfully and Hotch scoffs slightly at the boy’s brutal honesty. He considers it a slight positive that he has the ability to joke. Even though he was well-versed in the art of caring for somebody with a stomach virus (he had basically raised Spencer and JJ who were walking breeding grounds for germs), that still didn’t put his worry entirely at ease. Especially when it came to Spencer who is known for downplaying his symptoms if he felt as though he were imposing on somebody else. 

“You’re absolutely right,” Hotch teases back, rubbing his thumb along the length of Spencer’s significantly smaller shoulder. The boy heaves a shaky sigh, exhaustion clearly claiming his already worn-out body and Hotch feels himself frown. He needs to get the kid cleaned up and back to bed. “C’mon, arms up,” he orders swiftly, changing course rather abruptly. Spencer whimpers softly as Aaron begins attempting to maneuver the too-skinny figure out of his stained pajama t-shirt, but Spencer wriggles away before Hotch can make any actual progress on the menial task. He scowls deeper, although the boy’s glassy-eyed gaze isn’t directed at him to see. “You’ve got vomit all over yourself. You need to take a shower and I’ll throw these in the wash.” He chides rationally, hoping that if he introduces logical thinking into the equation than his brother will stop pushing him away. Of course, he has little luck in doing so and Spencer slaps at his hands weakly when Hotch tries to face him forwards once more to convince him to lose the disgusting shirt. 

“I don’t want you to see me change,” Spencer groans weakly and Hotch resists the urge to roll his eyes, but relents nonetheless. “Can you just leave for a minute? I promise I’ll be okay.” He requests, finally making direct eye contact with Aaron. The younger boy’s eyes are glazed with unshed tears, making him appear even younger than he actually is. Hotch is reluctant to humor the idea of leaving Spencer alone right now, but figures he would have to anyway considering the boy needs to shower. Hesitantly, he removes the dampened towel still resting on his younger brother’s forehead and begins to force himself into a standing position. 

“Warm water,” he reminds effortlessly. “If you make it too cold then-“ he’s about to continue his lecture when Spencer cuts him off with a gentle chuckle.

“Then I’ll just make myself more sick,” he repeats with practiced ease, undoubtedly from hearing it over and over again whenever he catches a stomach bug. “Don’t worry, Dr. Hotch, I know.” He jokes sarcastically. Hotch attempts a grim smile. 

“And sit down when you’re in there,” he adds with finality, swooping down to press a brief kiss to the top of his brother’s head. “We don’t need to add a concussion to the list if you fall.” He admonishes. The boy is clearly too energy-deficient to formulate a proper response so Hotch tries not to worry too much when he merely nods in agreement. Closing the door to allow the kid some privacy to change and get into the shower, he quickly gets to work. 

He makes sure not to make any noise in the still of the night as he makes his way into the kitchen where he’s stored some of their medications when necessary. Although he’s well aware of his younger brother’s protests against the cherry-flavored anti nausea medicine he would have to take, there is no way he’s allowing the kid to go back to sleep without at least ingesting some form of medication. He fills up a glass with water from the tap and another one with ice from the freezer to keep the kid hydrated throughout the night. Stealthily, he carried the glass of ice back into their shared bedroom and places it on the makeshift nightstand near Spencer’s bed. He smiles tightly at the image of Derek fast asleep, trying to ignore his own burgeoning exhaustion as he hurriedly snatches one of his own old t-shirts from the closet and a pair of tartan pajama bottoms from the small plastic chest of drawers that Spencer and Derek share. After he’s returned to the kitchen to acquire the tap water and bottle of liquid medicine, he promptly takes a seat outside of the bathroom door, relieved to feel a bit of lingering steam from underneath the slight crack in the doorframe that confirms that Spencer was taking his advice and using the warm water. 

The minutes pass at an agonizingly slow crawl and he’s suddenly jolted out of almost dozing off when he hears the spray of the shower cease abruptly, alerting him to the other boy’s current state. He lethargically raises a hand to rub his face, attempting to wake himself up a bit more in order to adequately deal with the situation of a sick kid. Seeing one of his siblings in a state of pain was never an enjoyable time, especially at 3am in the morning. 

Clambering to an unsteady standing position, he knocks almost inaudibly against the door. He’s just about to knock a bit louder for a second time when Spencer’s small, pained voice croaks out a weary response.

“Yeah?” The boy calls softly and Hotch has to take a deep inhale in order to quell his growing concern. 

“Open up, kid. I got you some new pajamas. We gotta put your other ones in the wash.” He reminds him, trying hard not to sound patronizing towards his younger brother. Of course, it’s rare that Spencer would be in his right mind during a bought of unprecedented sickness. Especially when he’s adopted the twisted mentality of not needing help or assistance. 

“Just turn around, okay?” Spencer sighs shakily. “I don’t want you to see me.” He clarifies hesitantly, probably picturing Hotch’s inquisitive look with ease. Aaron tries to ignore the warning bells in his mind as he agrees reluctantly, dropping the pajamas in a heap to the floor and turning around. He listens as the boy opens the door a crack and tentatively takes the new pajama bottoms and shirt. When Hotch looks down again after hearing the bathroom door close with a soft click, Spencer’s older pair are crumpled in a messy heap by his feet. He tries not to think about the bodily fluids on them as he informs his younger brother he’ll be right back and carries the ball of clothing off to the laundry closet nearby. 

When he returns once more, Spencer is fully clothed and the door is left open a crack in order to allow the steam from the warm shower spray to clear from the enclosed space. Aaron’s old black t-shirt nearly hangs down to his younger brother’s knees and he stifles his amusement at the sight as he enters the room with the glass of water and liquid medication in hand. Spencer has reclaimed his spot leaning against the bathtub, looking pallid and absolutely drained in the dim glow of the bathroom’s lightning. His chest rises and falls with the effort of manually regulating his breathing and Hotch tries not to let his abundant concern show too much as he takes a seat on the edge of the bathtub next to his youngest brother. Absentmindedly, he cards a hand through the still-damp curls and smiles softly as Spencer’s head drops to lean against his knee. 

“This sucks.” His younger brother mumbles dejectedly and Aaron is pulled from the false sense of security as he’s reminded of just how unpleasant this entire situation is. He feels a pang of guilt in his chest as he considers the obvious fact that the boy has literally been through hell within the last twelve hours and all he probably wants to do is return to bed.

“I know, kid, I know,” he murmurs gently, removing his hand from the boy’s brunette locks and bending down to uncap the bottle of anti-nausea medication. He pretends not to notice the cringing look that appears on Spencer’s face. “Just take some of this for me and we can both go back to sleep,” He promises, the allure of his bed in next room over motivating him to act quickly. He pours the recommended dosage into the measuring cap and passes the small amount to Spencer who grimaces before downing the cherry-red liquid, making sure to choke all of it down despite its admittedly abhorrent taste. “Good job,” he praises gently, taking the small cup from his youngest brother’s grasp and replacing it with the glass of water. “There we go, take some water,” he narrates, the sound of his voice hopefully providing some sort of comfort to his worn-out brother. The youngest takes a few sips before bluntly passing the glass back to Aaron, eyelids drooping heavily with the extended effort of staying awake. 

“Alright,” Hotch sighs with finality, moving to place the bottle of medicine and glass of water on the sink counter in case he needs to retrieve them in a few hours. “C’mon, let’s get you to bed.” He offers, holding out a hand to help the boy up from his uncomfortable looking position on the bathroom floor. Spencer doesn’t reach out immediately to accept. 

“Can...can I—?” He begins apprehensively, wide brown eyes looking up to Hotch’s level. Then, almost as if chiding himself for even speaking, the boy refocuses his gaze on the tile, silencing himself completely. Aaron’s brow furrows in confusion at the sight.

“What?” He pries, making sure to emphasize that he’s perplexed rather than angry so his younger brother doesn’t get the wrong idea. 

“Never-mind.” The boy mutters dismissively. Hotch retraces the steps of their conversation, attempting to find a keyword that will clue him into what his younger brother is trying to ask for. Then, it hits him. 

“Yes, you can stay in my bed,” Hotch allows and Spencer’s minuscule smile confirms his suspicions. Finally, the boy allows Aaron to ease him into a standing position, but the way he sways precariously doesn’t do much to assuage Hotch’s fears. Finally, after a moment’s indecision, Hotch merely places an arm around the kid’s shoulders and another one beneath his knees and effortlessly lifts him. He pretends to stumble as he scoops the boy up, but really Spencer is about as light as a feather. “Man, what are you eating? Rocks? You’re almost as heavy as Derek.” He muses with fabricated struggle as he swiftly reaches out with the hand supporting Spencer’s shoulders to flick off the light switch, dousing the room in darkness. Spencer’s lithe, bony arms reach up to wrap around his neck, stifling a yawn as he does so. 

“Maybe you’re experiencing loss of muscle tone in your arms due to Thoracic Outlet Syndrome,” The younger boy mumbles into his neck, voice muffled slightly. Hotch chuckles at the sleepy diagnosis as they make their way across the hall and back towards their shared bedroom. “Or you’re just old.” The kid adds tauntingly and Hotch can almost feel his grin grow against him. 

“I’ll drop you, don’t think I won’t.” He threatens light-heartedly, obviously not meaning the sentiment. Spencer scoffs, his breath warm on Hotch’s neck and his damp hair dripping slightly on the older boy’s shoulder.

“You wouldn’t, I’m sick.” Spencer reminds as Hotch pushes open the door to their bedroom softly, not wanting to wake Derek on the other side of the room. 

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” He exhales, detangling Spencer’s skinny arms from around his neck as he shifts the boy out of his grasp and onto Hotch’s twin bed. The kid relaxes easily into the mattress and Aaron suppresses his amusement as he pulls the paper wastebasket by their closet closer to the bed, just in case. He’s just about to clamber into bed next to his brother when a sudden thought strikes him and he takes a few steps over to Spencer’s bed in the far corner of the room. Knowingly, he grabs the overly worn stuffed penguin from the bedspread that appears to have been kicked off in a frantic rush before making his way back to his own mattress where Spencer is clearly just beginning to drift off. 

He peels back the covers and slides in, feeling a pang of sympathy when Spencer shifts over to accommodate for Hotch’s much taller frame. Wordlessly, he passes the stuffed animal to the boy who constantly claims not to care about it, but who knows he sleeps better with the well-loved toy anyway. Hotch settles his head against the pillows, relishing in the comfort as he’s finally able to close his eyes. He vaguely registers Spencer’s damp mop of curls resting against his upper chest and he silently encircles his arms around his younger brother in a loose embrace as he feels the kid breathe against him. It’s been a while since Spencer has sought out comfort so openly like this, but Hotch is used to it. Back when the kid had first come to live with them he had crawled into Hotch’s or Derek’s beds almost every night of the week after waking up from a particularly bad night terror. Once Spencer started asserting his independence as he grew, Hotch realized that he missed the feeling of the kid curled up next to him like a space heater in bed. Even if he did happen to kick sometimes.

“Hotch?” The small voice pulls him back from the peaceful lull of near-sleep and he sucks in a patient breath, rubbing a hand up and down the length of Spencer’s back to show that he was listening without needing to speak. “Thank you. For helping me.” The kid adds shyly, curling up impossibly closer next to him. Hotch feels as though his heart may implode. 

“That’s what I’m here for, kid.” He mutters gently. That’s the last thing he remembers before the waves of exhaustion reach out and pull him into a calm ocean of much-needed rest. There will be a myriad of new problems to deal with in the morning— there always is. But, for now, he finally allows himself to sleep. 

xxx

He’s never been a particularly spectacular doctor by any means.

Growing up in a position like Hotch’s— the one of constantly being the rule-enforcer, caretaker, and diplomat, should probably have trained him to be more prepared for taking care of sick kids. But, at his core, all he’s really skilled at doing is coercing medication into their systems and trying to regulate their temperatures. He’s well aware that it’s not necessarily rocket science, but the thought of being responsible for somebody else’s health still puts him on edge.

He spends most of his morning in an anxious haze as Spencer drifts in and out of consciousness. He forgets to shut off his alarm after falling back asleep with the kid in his bed at around 3:30am and wakes up, bleary-eyed and utterly confused, until he remembers why there’s a child clinging to his side and why he feels like he’s just been hit head on by a two-ton truck. He wakes himself up enough to rouse Emily and alert her that she’s got to get everyone else up for school. He sends a quick text from his emergency phone to Rossi to let his best friend know that he won’t be at their usual meeting place that morning because of a sick Spencer before promptly clambering back into bed beside his too-warm little brother and drifting back into an exhausted sleep.

His eyes are closed for about thirty minutes before he hears something shatter from the kitchen and an admonishing “Derek!” follow immediately after. 

After that, the morning passes relatively calmly. Spencer wakes up complaining about the heat until Hotch goes to fetch the portable fan from the closet and turns it towards his younger brother’s face. The boy is either perpetually freezing or sweating and Hotch feels guilty about not being able to take his pain away. The hours drift by and the kid takes more fever-reducing medicine and a few sips of seltzer water Hotch finds buried in the back of the fridge. He curls up in bed next to the kid and reads until his voice is hoarse from prolonged use. He sits by him and strokes his hair when the boy ends up hunched over the toilet bowl again, his fingers gripping so tightly to the sides of the porcelain that they turn white. The sounds of the horrible retching make Hotch want to leave the room, but he stays close by anyway, just in case Spencer needs him. 

At every possible turn, Spencer seems to vehemently deny wanting his help. It’s almost utterly exhausting in itself to try and convince Spencer to choke down a few sips of chicken broth and saltines for lunch, not to mention trying to coax him out of the idea of doing some of his homework in his spare time. He tries not to hover or to be too overbearing, but that’s difficult when one minute the kid is sulking at him for some minuscule offense and the next he’s out cold with his head situated on Hotch’s chest. 

Eventually, late morning shifts into early afternoon and they both manage to grab a few more blissfully uninterrupted hours of sleep. Rossi ends up shooting him a quick text that he informed Gideon of the reason for his absence after class that morning and Hotch tries not to linger too much on that notion. It’s nearly 2pm and Hotch is reading well into his borrowed copy of Shakespeare’s sonnets, even though it’s evident that Spencer knows the 14-line poems by heart anyway from the way he mouths the words under his breath as Hotch reads aloud. He’s just about to distractedly flip to the next page and set of poems when he feels a sudden jolt beside him. Fearing the worst, he sets the book down and turns his full attention onto his youngest brother’s trembling form. Pursing his lips in concern, he places the palm of his own hand against Spencer’s searing forehead and he feels the frown lines deepen on his face into his signature scowl.

“Your fever hasn’t gotten any better,” he remarks, stating the obvious. Spencer seems to realize this and merely rolls his eyes sarcastically. “You’re shaking.” He adds, feeling as though it’s a bit trivial to be pointing out this information to the same kid that could tell him every single bone in the human body. 

“I’m *fine*,” he asserts ignorantly and Hotch feels his scowl grow. 

“Quit it,” he chides instantly, tired of hearing the same fabricated mantra of martyrdom over and over again. “if your fever doesn’t come down within the next few hours I have to take you to the hospital and I don’t think either of us want that.” He threatens and he can tell by the way the small figure tenses beside him that it’s obviously not an option the younger boy is going to humor. “Look,” he sighs with finality, sitting himself up more against the wall his bed lies adjacent to. “I know you don’t want to, but if you get this heavy material off then you’ll feel a lot better.” He tries to reason. He doesn’t even manage to get another word in before the kid is shaking his head adamantly, clearly pissed off at even the slightest suggestion.

“No, leave it alone,” The 10-year-old snaps and Hotch’s heart twists painfully. He knows his younger brother is hiding something and the fact that he feels as though he’s being purposefully avoided hurts. “I’m not doing it.” Spencer hisses, crossing his arms over his chest with finality. Hotch pinches the bridge of his nose, clearly aggravated by the way this conversation is going. 

“Spencer, stop acting like a child-“ He begins, although the statement is rather futile when Spencer refutes it with the obvious.

“I *am* a child!” He shoots back, brown eyes stormy with a mix of fear and frustration. Hotch wants nothing more than to wrap the younger boy in his arms and attempt to take all of that anger and pain away from him, but the world doesn’t work like that— he should know by now. He also knows that Spencer doesn’t become cagey, closed-off, and irritable this easily; its painfully obvious that whatever the kid is hiding isn’t going to be a pleasant conversation.

“Then stop being a jerk about it,” Aaron admonishes bitingly. “You’re drenched in sweat and you’re only going to feel worse if you don’t let me help you,” He rationalizes, trying to calm himself down so that the boy doesn’t lash out at him again. “Just settle down and come here, it’s not like I haven’t taken you swimming before and seen your bony ribs.” He jokes, but his tone is so exasperated that it’s hard to find the hint of humor in his statement. The younger boy remains pouting with his arms crossed protectively over his chest, unwavering in his stance as he glares at Hotch as if the older boy has just suggested jumping off of a bridge. Aaron sighs, moving forward slightly to attempt to uncross Spencer’s arms, but the boy jerks away violently.

“Stop!” He nearly shouts, ripping his entire body away from Aaron. “I’m fine!” He reasserts, glaring daggers at Hotch. Undeterred by his sudden exclamation, Hotch persists anyway, finally reaching his proverbial breaking point of the afternoon.

“Cut it out, now,” he demands firmly, his tone bordering on venomous. “Whatever you’re hiding, I need to know. I’m not playing games anymore.” He snaps, staring down the younger boy with a narrowed gaze. Spencer breaks the eye contact first, nervously scratching at the knee of his pajama pants where there’s a slight hole in the flannel pattern. His lower lip trembles and Hotch momentarily feels bad for being so harsh with him, but alternatively he knows that this is the only way to convince his headstrong brother to comply. 

“I’m not hiding anything.” Spencer mumbles dejectedly, still avoiding Hotch’s prying gaze.

“Then just show me.” He pleads with a sigh, quite tired of running around in circles in the argument. Spencer takes another moment for himself before exhaling deeply and uncrossing his arms, essentially silently signalling Hotch of his surrender. The younger boy’s eyes are screwed shut so tightly in order to avoid shedding any of the tears Aaron noticed in his gaze. Tentatively, he reaches forward and lets his hand brush the bottom of the borrowed shirt. His brother tenses at the unwarranted contact, but Aaron persists through the growing guilt and apprehension nonetheless. He gently works the baggy material upwards with one hand, using the other to keep a steadying grasp on Spencer’s shoulder. 

He gasps upon seeing it, mostly in disbelief. His younger brother’s skin is decorated with an intricate medley of different shaped bruises blooming across his chest. The marks range in various sizes and intensities of browns and purples, but it’s clear that the attack was recent. His mouth runs dry as his mind flashes back to the night prior and the way Spencer had tenderly carried himself, wincing slightly at any intimate contact. Immediately, he begins blaming himself for not noticing such a glaringly obvious detail in his behavioral traits.

His eyes stray up to the younger boy’s face which is scrunched up tightly as a few tears trail down his heated skin. Hotch drops the shirt’s material without hesitation and reaches up to cup the kid’s cheek in his palm, wiping a few tears away with the pad of his thumb. 

“Jesus Christ, Spence...” his voice trailed off with uncertainty as he speaks, unsure of how else to articulate his sympathy. He feels inwardly sick as the image of his youngest brother’s body so damaged penetrates his mind. It certainly isn’t something he’ll forget soon enough, unfortunately.

“There!” Spencer chokes out, sobbing as he does so. “Happy?” He cries, a day’s worth of pent up rage leaving his body entirely with the two words. Hotch feels his heart break more and more with every second he has to bear witness to the boy’s furious cries. He can’t help but feel entirely at fault for not noticing earlier, but he knows that he can’t blame himself now. He has to be there for Spencer.

“Did this happen yesterday?” He grimaces, although the answer is apparent even without Spencer’s pitiful nod of confirmation. 

“It w-was when Kyle Moore an- and his friends-“ the younger boy sobs, unable to finish his own thought, and understandably so. Aaron doesn’t hesitate to envelop him in a sturdy embrace, although this time he’s careful to avoid jostling any of the newly discovered injuries decorating the kid’s torso.

“Okay, kid, it’s okay.” he murmurs, the embrace eerily similar to the night prior when Spencer and Alex had pulled him out of rehearsals. It’s impossible to ignore the guilt that consumes him as he realizes that he’s allowed his brother to come to so much pain in the last 24 hours alone. The kid continues crying softly, muffling his sobs into Hotch’s shoulder once more. It takes a few minutes of gentle, whispered reassurances into the boy’s curly hair, but finally Spencer speaks up once more as his tears slowly start to subside.

“Hotch. I-I’m sorry.” The kid mutters and Aaron subconsciously holds him a little tighter.

“Don’t,” He chastises monosyllabically. “Don’t apologize.” He tells the boy, although whether or not the message is fully comprehended or not isn’t clear. 

“If, if I wasn’t so weak...” he stammers out and Hotch doesn’t hesitate to pull out of the embrace immediately to face the younger boy. He doesn’t want to hear phrases like that coming from the kid who, for as long as Hotch has known him, has carried himself with more maturity and strength than most of the adults he knows. 

“You’re not weak and you never have been,” he admonishes firmly, emphasizing his words by making eye contact. “They’re the weak ones.” He shakes his head, rage boiling over inside at even the thought of the older teens picking on a literal 10-year-old kid. He’ll definitely have to sit down with Emily, Penelope, and Derek later that night to discuss exactly how they’re going to handle watching out for their youngest while on campus. Hotch makes a silent promise to both himself and the kid that he’ll never let anything as bad as this happen to him ever again. 

Spencer merely sniffles slightly, wiping his face free of tears with the droopy sleeve of Hotch’s old tee. “What about that time when I sprained my ankle when JJ and I were playing soccer?” He scoffs gently, even eliciting a surprised chuckle from Hotch. It was definitely not a pleasant memory to look back on, but the reminder of the unfortunate event did help to lighten the gravity of their current conversation. He tried not to fixate too much on the fact that the younger boy was clearly deflecting the more serious aspects of what Hotch had just told him.

“Well, that was a statistical outliner and shouldn’t be counted,” Hotch quips with ease, reclining slightly back up against the wall where his pillows lay. Spencer joins him in the half-sitting position, resting his mop of curls against Aaron’s chest once more. He sighs softly, allowing his hands to absentmindedly play with the brunette locks in order to distract him before switching the tone of their conversation back to a more serious light. “It’s okay, Spence, they’re gonna pay for this.” He promises, but whether that promise is to himself or to his younger brother, he’s not entirely sure. 

The mop of curls shakes gently against his chest and Hotch puts little effort into suppressing his frown. “If you get involved it’s only gonna make it worse,” the boy groans, exhaustion creeping up in his voice. “I can fight my own battles.” He adds plaintively. 

*’Yeah, cause that mentality sure worked out well yesterday.’* Hotch muses silently, not sharing his sarcastic response with the headstrong kid. Instead, he opts for a more decisive route.

“Sucks. On Monday we’re going straight to the office and you’re filling out an incident report,” he instructs. The kid laying against him opens his mouth to protest, but Aaron shuts him down without hesitation. “No, don’t argue. They’ll never stop if we don’t do something.” He points out, and although it’s clear that Spencer is reluctant to accept the logic, he doesn’t debate the issue further, much to Hotch’s relief.

“Just don’t tell Derek or Em or anyone,” he warns tenuously, burrowing his face further into Hotch’s upper rib cage. “I don’t want them to think I’m pathetic.” He sighs, his eyes drooping shut from the extended effort of staying awake for so long while fighting his illness. Hotch’s scowl deepens at his succinct request.

“You are not pathetic, Spencer Reid,” Hotch asserts firmly, running his hand up and down the length of the younger boy’s small, bruised back. The words cut like a knife as they leave Spencer’s mouth, and Hotch can’t help but blame himself for not intervening and putting a stop to this line of thought way earlier. “Don’t ever say that.” He reprimands tightly, putting in immense effort to not let the younger boy hear the emotion in his voice. He’s perfectly equipped to handle his sibling’s emotional breakdowns, but he’s apprehensive about letting the cracks in his incredibly sturdy armour show around them. They don’t need to see that as much as he doesn’t need to experience that. 

“It sounds a lot more convincing coming from you.” Spencer mumbles softly. He falls silent after that and as his breathing evens out underneath Hotch’s watchful eye, Aaron finds himself finally able to relax with the knowledge that his little brother is resting. Together, they drift back into an aimless sleep underneath the gentle warmth of the mid-afternoon sun. 

xxx

The tranquility of the afternoon lasts about an hour and a half before the sudden noise of the front door slamming shut has both boys scrambling awake.

“Helloooo! I come bearing gifts!” A familiar voice calls into the empty house, permeating the comfortable silence. A chorus of footsteps seems to march in at varying levels of volume. “And by gifts I mean the entire candy section of the cafeteria’s vending machine!” The voice cheers and Hotch barely has to look up as the door to their bedroom creaks open to know that Penelope is struggling with an armful of candy that Spencer most likely won’t be able to stomach until the next day or so. He sits up gently in bed, Spencer immediately following suit as the horde of teenagers files into the room one by one.

“We tried to stop her.” Emily sighs light-heartedly, flanked by Rossi and Derek.

“We failed.” Derek adds grimly as Penelope dumps a Halloween-sized haul of candy onto Hotch’s nightstand. Spencer shoots her an appreciative grin, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“I can see that.” Hotch quips, eyeing the stack of candy bars and gummies that could probably kill a small animal by sheer sugar content alone. Rossi merely shrugs, reaching out to grab one of the three Snickers bars, earning himself a playful slap from Penelope. The capacity of the room grows as JJ and surprisingly enough, Alex, file in to join the rest of the group. Spencer’s face absolutely lights up upon seeing Alex there and Hotch does little to hide his own grin at the kid’s obvious excitement. 

“Hey, Alex!” The boy cheers, sitting cross-legged on the twin mattress. Derek and Dave lean up against the doorframe while Penelope and JJ make themselves comfortable on the floor of the crowded bedroom, watching the admittedly endearing exchange.

“Hey, Spencer,” Alex greets warmly, her exuberant smile warm enough to light up the room on its own. “I brought that book I was telling you about yesterday. I just finished it during lunch today, thought you might want to read it so we can talk about it together.” She suggests softly and Hotch can immediately see why Spencer likes the older girl so much. She’s definitely right up his alley in terms of friendship and similar interests. 

“Oh! And I thought you both might enjoy your homework for the weekend,” Rossi interjects, digging frantically into his own backpack to pull out some loose sheets. “Just so you don’t feel bad about missing a day.” He explains. While Spencer eagerly accepts the stack of papers from his AP courses, Hotch is less enthusiastic as he catches a glimpse of all the work he’s been assigned in a single day. 

“Thank you guys, for real. I really appreciate it.” Spencer absolutely beams at the sight of all the people in the room. His innocence and genuine response is enough to make all of their hearts melt on the spot, although Hotch wouldn’t exactly be quick to admit it.

“Well, we appreciate you.” JJ grins back from her seat on the carpeted floor.

“Even when you’re kicking me at 3am.” Emily teases from the doorway. 

“How about a movie?” Penelope suggests eagerly to their group. “I may or may not have a pirated copy of Pirates of the Caribbean on my AV laptop,” she explains, already reaching for her backpack to extract the school-issued computer. “In honor of everyone’s favorite pirate.” She adds teasingly and Hotch stops just as he’s scooting over on his bed to make room for anyone else who wants to use the twin to sit down on. He involuntarily feels his face redden at the joke and narrows his gaze at Penelope. 

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.” He deadpans, earning a few laughs from the room.

“And I’ll pretend I definitely did.” Rossi tacks on, taking a seat next to Penelope on the floor of the bedroom and reaching out for the younger girl to fistbump him, which she does so eagerly as Hotch merely rolls his eyes.

“We probably have some popcorn from our last movie marathon,” Emily points out, still lingering in the doorway. “Alex? Wanna help me make some?” She offers genuinely and Hotch is a little surprised at her hospitality. Alex seems just as pleasantly taken aback, but nods in agreement all the same.

“Sure!” She accepts cheerfully, her face faltering a bit as she moves from her position by Spencer to meet Emily. “Although, I’m not sure how much help I can be. I’m usually only good at burning food rather than cooking it.” She admits with a slight, nervous chuckle as Emily leads her into the kitchen, their voices echoing down the hallway before they turn the corner. 

Penelope cues up the film and they all settle into a companionable silence. Derek joins Spencer and Hotch on the bed while Rossi, JJ, and Penelope each pull out blankets and pillows from the rest of the room to make the floor more comfortable for themselves. Emily and Alex join not long after with a few bowls of only slightly burnt popcorn for the group. Spencer passes on the popcorn considering his still tentative physical state, but throws down some of the pilfered candy from Penelope for everyone to share. 

Hotch relaxes significantly at the sight of everyone enjoying themselves for once, even considering the unfortunate circumstances of Spencer’s illness that brought them all together in the first place. It’s this kind of time that he savors most— just the ability to slow down from the hectic and crushing routine of his life and allow himself to just breathe and enjoy the company of his family and friends for a few minutes. He closes his eyes for a moment and inhales deeply, taking a mental snapshot of the scene in his mind. He doesn’t know when the next time he’ll be able to just enjoy their company altogether like this again, so he’s got to hold onto it. 

He never wants to let moments like these slip by.

xxx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! If you enjoyed, leave a comment down below please!


	16. grasping at pearls with my fingertips

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a short little chapter cause i couldnt think of any better ideas so i just went with what the plot needed! thanks to erin and my other friends to encourage me iin writing and being so kind :') yall are truly the kindest. thank you so much for commenting and i love to hear your feedback! let me know what u thought about the chapters/what you wanna see in future chapters! thanks so much for reading and i hope u enjoy
> 
> Disclaimer: aspects of this work bear similarities to the separate publication “Patron Saint of Lost Causes”. the author of this work attributes the content in this chapter to the correct source (@themetaphorgirl). Publication of this work is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not replace the intellectual property of the above source. This work is intended for personal, non-commercial use only and the author attributes subsequently reproduced or reconstructed concepts to the original source, all rights reserved.

“This isn’t going to work.”

“Yes it is, you’ve almost got it.”

Her words are encouraging, but not necessarily true. He suppresses a groan as they walk back to the right side of the stage and position themselves in a two-person line formation. The overhead lights illuminate the otherwise darkened auditorium and he watches with mild intrigue as a singular moth flits back and forth between two of the spotlights. 

“That’s what you said the last thirty times.” he reminds her with slight impatience as she spares him a teasing grin. They’ve been at this for the better part of an hour now and he hasn’t made much progress in the way of learning how to coordinate his lanky figure to perform the simple dance steps required of his character. 

“Twenty-eight,” she corrects slyly. “And I’m right, so shut up.” Haley asserts light-heartedly and he can’t help but grin at her declaration. In the brief moments they’ve shared together over the course of the last few weeks, he certainly never expected her to be so rambunctious behind the scenes of the pleasant facade she puts up.

Of course, it’s not that he minds her rowdiness at all. Her goofy antics balance out his shy, reserved demeanor almost perfectly and although this the first time they’ve had a one-on-one rehearsal together, she’s already managed to break through the tough exterior he puts up around the rest of the impossibly annoying Pirates of Penzance cast. 

He doesn’t expect it in the slightest when she approaches him after the brief segment of Monday night’s rehearsal he attends after the conclusion of his student government meeting. He’s already missed Friday’s rehearsal due to his absence during the day, but in a rare turn of events he ends up also having to attend what’s referred to as “pick-up” rehearsal on Monday. However, what everybody failed to inform him was that “pick-up rehearsal” loosely translates to “you’ve only been in this show for a week now and had to attend one other rehearsal where you really just sat in the audience for 80% of the time, but we started doing all the important stuff on the one day you were gone because we hate you.” Which is how he finds himself rushing into the auditorium that afternoon after he wraps up the student government meeting only to be called up onstage to run-through a dance sequence for the ensemble pirates that he definitely was not prepared for in the slightest. It goes about as well as he expects, meaning that he might as well be listed as an OSHA hazard for the remainder of the rehearsal process. So, during one of the few limited breaks the cast got, Haley approaches him so abruptly that he almost jumps out of his own skin.

“Ms. Brent says we can use the stage to practice that last number after rehearsals today, I thought you might want some help.” She informs him with arguably one of the most angelic smiles of all time. He’s only able to stammer out a barely coherent agreement to her offer before she’s striding back over to her circle of friends who lose no time in swarming her like a group of vultures, stifling their giggles as if Hotch can’t hear them from six feet away. He isn’t able to pay attention to much else for the remainder of the excruciatingly long rehearsal that evening, unable to pull his distracted thoughts away from the fact that Haley actually took the time to speak to him directly. But, when the saccharinely sweet director informs the cast that they’re free to go for the evening, he’s a little taken aback at the sight of the rest of the ensemble pirates he’s tripped over grabbing their bags and departing the auditorium. He furrows his brow as the rest of the cast, chattering excitedly as they usually are in their close-knit circles, eventually leaves as well. The rest of the cast files out in a slow procession until a few minutes later when it’s just him and Haley Brooks left in the now abandoned theatre. 

He swears his heart stops beating altogether when she beckons for him to join her onstage.

So, that’s the reason as to why he’s vehemently asserting his strong no-dance position while she’s teasing him and trying to teach him the rather simple combination that he can’t believe he’s too uncoordinated to grasp by now. But, he’d be lying if he said he’d want to be anywhere else than up on that dimly lit stage with her at that moment. He’d take tripping over his own sneakers and making a fool out of himself in front of Haley over riding the city bus home anyday.

“It’s just step-cross, step-cross and then you alternate the arms with it.” She instructs him for what feels like the ninetieth time that rehearsal. He’s growing increasingly more aggravated at his own incompetence than he should be, but he really wasn’t led to believe by Penelope or the description of his measly role in the school musical that he would be forced to dance and sing at the same time. The singing alone would surely kill him before they opened the show; to add in a dance combination was a lethal concept.

He tries in vain to replicate the steps she’s demonstrating to him as he steps down with his right before crossing over with his left. He feels about as graceful as a whale on stilts, but he somehow manages to perform the step for at least a few counts until he begins to focus too much on the placement of his arms. Before he knows it, his left foot lands on the toe of Haley’s shoe and he accidentally elbows her in the side. They both screech to a halt and even though she begins to laugh, he can’t help the mortified look that crosses his face. 

“Shit,” he swears under his breath, coursing an agitated hand through his dark hair. “Sorry, I’m so sorry.” He amends quickly, despite the fact that she’s clearly amused by the whole situation. 

“Don’t apologize,” She advises kindly through a chuckle, brushing a wavy blonde lock out of her face. The theatre lights illuminate her perfectly, the incandescent rays bouncing off of her figure like she’s some ethereal being. “Let’s just take a breather, alright?” She suggests lightly, clearly unfazed by the way Hotch is admiring her from a few feet away. “It’ll help clear your head if you relax for once.” She teases, flicking his shoulder playfully. 

“Yeah, cause we’ve made so much progress in the last hour.” He quips sarcastically, more as a self-deprecating comment than anything. She shrugs light-heartedly as she makes her way to the apron of the stage before taking a seat. Her long legs dangle over the edge of the stage and she gestures for him to follow, which he does so without a moment’s hesitation. He figures, at this point, if Haley told him to jump off of the school’s roof he would do so before giving it a second thought.

“Better than earlier today when you nearly killed Grant Anderson.” She reminds him, referencing the singular disastrous run-through of the dance sequence when everybody thought for a split second that he had accidentally broken Grant’s arm as the freshman fell to the floor. Of course, the kid ended up being fine, but Hotch felt inwardly sick at the fact that he had screwed up so badly that Grant was now protesting having to stand by him in the number. Somehow though, his guilt was appeased slightly when he caught wind of the much smaller kid whispering about his atrocious dance skills behind his back to the other pirates.

“He had it coming.” Hotch reasons nonchalantly, only slightly joking. Haley stifles a giggle.

“Nice Chicago reference.” The girl chuckles, but Hotch merely shoots a bewildered look. Did she just say Chicago? Like the city?

“What?” He asks, seeking some clarification on the unwarranted comment. Haley merely smiles softly, shaking her head. 

“Nevermind,” she dismisses his question, only adding to his confusion. “You don’t really know a lot about musicals, do you?” She pries and Hotch’s jaw clenches at the accusation. He’s not too keen on the idea of her discovering that the only reason he would ever force himself into a position as uncomfortable and draining as this one is to get closer to her. When he thinks about it, it does sound a bit on the stalker side of things. He attempts to dissuade her interrogation with a casual shrug. 

“How could you tell?” he shoots back, hoping silently that she can’t pick up on the way his palms suddenly begin to sweat. 

“Oh, just the fact that you still refer to it as ‘play practice’.” She points out tauntingly, raising a honey-colored eyebrow in his direction. 

“It just makes sense to call it that.” He counters, eliciting more laughter from the girl beside him. He tries not to fixate too much on the fact that whenever she begins to giggle he feels a strange warmth spreading throughout his entire body, as if he’s just walked onto the surface of the sun.

“So, why’d you audition then?” She grills, clearly dubious of his myriad of excuses he provides whenever somebody points out how he doesn’t really fit in with the rest of the theatre kid scene. He hesitates briefly before launching into his routine explanation, hoping she’ll just drop the subject once and for all. He has a distinctive feeling that she wouldn’t be so eager to offer him anymore one-on-one dance lessons if she knew that he concocted an entire plan just to talk to her by auditioning and getting cast in a musical. 

“I told you. I wanted to add an extra-curricular to my roster that-” He begins with practiced ease, but she cuts him off less than a few seconds into his familiar spiel. 

“ ‘would help bolster your chances of getting accepted into a university.’” She parrots with remarkable accuracy and he feels a slight blush creep its way onto his cheeks and neck. Perhaps he’s used that excuse one too many times now. “Yeah, I know. You bring that up every time someone looks at you weird for being here.” She points out with brutal honesty that Hotch barely expects. He figures she has a right to be skeptical of his presence in an environment that he’s very clearly not equipped to. Despite only just transferring to their school, Haley had earned the lead in the musical due to her immense talent and prior training that all the other teenagers in the cast seemed to fawn over her for. He just happened to be fawning over her for entirely different reasons than the number of shows on her resume. 

“Well, it’s true,” He maintains, unwavering from his pre-established position on the matter. He falters for a moment, processing her statement. “And people look at me weird?” He questions, suddenly feeling a bit more anxious about the fact that he was involved in this show. Haley spares him a teasing smirk.

“They will if you don’t get this dance down by the next time we run through it, Pirate #4,” She argues, her response convincing enough to rouse Hotch from his position on the edge of the stage. They both clamber to their feet before he heads back over to the side of the stage where he’s supposed to make his entrance and she joins him, filling in for Grant’s position. “C’mon, you got this.” She encourages lightly. She’s so self-assured that he actually sort of begins to believe her comforting mantra. 

They stumble through the routine a few more times. Well, more accurately, he stumbles through while she counts to eight in order to keep time as he practices the steps. Admittedly, it takes a few more agonizing minutes before he finally feels as though he’s got a hang of performing the ‘grapevine’ step while moving his arms in a jaunty, pirate-appropriate manner. Finally, he masters at least three solid run-throughs of the variation before she allows him to stop.

“Hey! That was amazing!” She cheers with unbridled excitement. He’s unable to stifle his joy as a huge grin breaks out on his face, but whether that’s due to the fact that she’s praising him or the fact that he actually managed to dance across the stage without putting another person in danger is beyond him. “We should try it with music now to see if you can do it at tempo.” She suggests, still clearly overjoyed at the fact that he’s successfully mastered the simple routine. 

She hooks her cellphone up to the theatre’s cheap speaker system, static crackling in the air as she pulls up a pre-recorded version of the ‘I Am a Pirate King’ song, one of the few numbers Hotch’s character is present for. She rushes back over to stand by him as the melody floods the air as the familiar composition of Gilbert and Sullivan plays. Suddenly, the musical doesn’t sound quite as unbearable with Haley standing next to him. Her exuberance and enthusiasm floods the auditorium far more than the stage lights ever could. 

He allows her to lead him through the steps a few more times, eventually even mastering the combination enough to struggle through it on his own once or twice with her watching from the front row and silently critiquing. She beams, nonetheless, as she returns back up onstage to grab her phone and remove it from the aux cord to silence the track.

“Aaron, that was great,” she grins cheerily, blonde waves falling around her face. “You really got the hang of that.” She commends him and he only hopes that the overhead lights wash out the deep blush he knows is spreading across his face at her compliments. He would never admit this to another soul, (especially not Rossi) but he always feels his heart skip a beat whenever she calls him by his first name as opposed to his more common nickname. It’s almost as if they share an inside joke that the rest of the world isn’t allowed in on, and he intends to keep it that way. If she’s the only person who calls him Aaron for the rest of his life, he’d absolutely be alright with that.

“Thanks,” he manages to reply despite his slight apprehension. “Y’know, for helping me,” He clarifies quickly, not wanting her to pick up on the pathetic longing he knows is evident in his dark gaze. “It means a lot.” He adds with a weak chuckle, hoping he can diffuse the situation before she notices his knees shaking. She grants him a warm smile in return.

“No problem,” she shrugs casually, pocketing her phone. “You’re fun when you’re not over in the corner of the stage looking like you want somebody to shoot you,” She teases buoyantly, clearly delighting in his reactions. He makes a mental note to remind himself to not look so miserable when he’s amongst the rest of the cast. “We’ve still got a few minutes left here, wanna help me practice the Poor Wandering One?” She proposes and he feels his throat run dry at the suggestion. He has no idea what on earth ‘the poor wandering one’ means, but he assumes it most likely relates to the show they just so happen to be rehearsing for. He doesn’t hesitate before nodding eagerly.

“Um, sure. What do you want me to do?” He asks, nervously shoving both hands into his sweatshirt pockets. He doesn’t need her to see how profusely he’s sweating at the moment. Luckily, she doesn’t seem to take much notice of his perspiration issue as she excitedly makes her way downstage to where she’s dropped her copy of what the rest of the cast refers pretentiously to as a ‘libretto’. He’s convinced that most of this confusing terminology is made up on the spot to frustrate him, but he doesn’t intend to share that theory with any of the vehemently passionate theatre kids he finds himself surrounded by. 

“Well, this is the scene where my character, Mabel, meets Frederic and he tries to hit on her sisters but they all reject him,” She introduces distractedly, busying herself with flipping to the correct page she’s searching for in the script. “Except for me, of course. Then they fall in love while I sing this song.” She explains, giving Hotch a loose idea of the plot. Admittedly, he probably should know a bit more about the musical he’s a part of, but considering he’s only called to a handful of rehearsals before the actual week before the show opens in early December, he’s not too concerned with memorizing the material that he’s not directly involved in.

“Sounds...realistic.” He jokes dryly, and Haley rolls her eyes at his comment, punching his upper arm softly.

“Don’t worry, you don’t have to show off your sick dance moves for this scene,” she taunts, literally sticking her tongue out at him. He smiles at her childish behavior. “All I really need is somebody to practice the blocking with so I have it down before tomorrow.” She elaborates. He gives a silent nod as she directs him to enter from “upstage right” (which is a confusing order all on its own considering that up is not actually up and down is not actually down on a stage) but he complies by her instructions without argument, not wanting to break the tentative bond they’ve formed in the last hour or so. 

He looks on with mild intrigue as she marks fervently in her script with a thin pencil, muttering her lines under her breath as she paces back and forth across the boards of the stage. She regards him a few times, but speaks to him rather as a placeholder than an actual scene partner. He finds some amusement in observing her as she speaks to an invisible horde of people, who he assumes to be the aforementioned sisters in this scene. It’s fascinating to watch her get absorbed in her character, her face morphing with a range of emotions as she whispers her many lines to herself. He stands by, wishing that she doesn’t notice he’s observing her with a small smile.

“Do you mind if I use the track?”

The sudden request sends him hurtling straight back to reality and he has to blink himself from a hazy trance as he processes what she’s asking. 

“Ah, uh- no,” he stammers out, cringing at the sound of his wavering voice. Why does he always get so nervous whenever she looks at him like that? “Go ahead.” He concludes with a tight-lipped smile. 

She plugs in her phone again with the speaker’s aux cord and he waits patiently in the spot where he assumes the actor playing Frederic is supposed to stand. Although he’s less than enthused about anything related to the theatre program or the show he’s in, he can’t help but feel a subtle tinge of jealousy at the idea of some punk kid playing the love interest of Haley. He almost wishes he were talented enough to be considered to play the character she falls in love with… then maybe she’d-

“Poor wandering one, though thou has surely strayed.”

His silent reverie is interrupted once more as Haley’s soft soprano voice begins to sing along to the instrumental track she’s pulled up. He glances up as she sings through the lyrics with practiced ease. Her voice penetrates the air like a bell, crisp and clear. It’s not difficult for even him to see why she was chosen to play a leading role in the musical despite only just transferring to Madison Heights. When she sings, it’s almost as if he’s hearing music clearly for the first time. 

He doesn’t notice at first, but in the back-half of the song she addresses him more and more. For the most part, her eyes remain glued to the libretto clasped loosely in her grip, but she alternates between reading a few scribbled notes on her page and glancing up at him. He’s completely unsure of how to respond considering the fact that he’s definitely not in this scene, but he tries to remain engaged as she interacts with him through song.

Until about a second and a half later when she’s standing less than six inches away from him and his heart suddenly feels like it very well may be bursting out of his chest.

They’re standing so close in proximity that he can smell the faintest hint of her shampoo as she draws near. Her chin tilts up just slightly as she glances up to his countenance, which could probably be described most accurate as a mix of absolutely petrified and utterly shocked. The adrenaline rushes through his body, paralyzing him to stand stock-still as the girl places a single hand on his arm. He doesn’t even move as she does so despite the thousands of goosebumps rising on his skin underneath the thick material of his old sweatshirt. It feels, honestly, as if the entire rest of the world has chosen to stand still at that very moment as he gazes down into her wide, aquamarine eyes and feels himself staring back. 

“Take heart of grace, thy steps retrace…” 

Her voice trails off with unprecedented uncertainty, shattering the trance that he’s locked in. He furrows his brow, a bit bewildered at her sudden derailment from the lyrics as the track continues without her. Then, he gets his answer.

“You’re supposed to lean in right here and pretend like you’re going to kiss me,” She explains, a hint of a smirk evident on her face. She doesn’t seem quite as fazed as he is by this whole endeavor. “But I reject you and turn away before I continue singing.” She adds frantically, probably picking up on his absolutely terrified expression. It’s not that he doesn’t want to be standing so close to her-- it’s that he never wants it to end.

“Uh, okay.” He relents after a moment’s hesitation. He’s not sure how else to respond, but Haley merely provides an encouraging smile like the one she’s been sporting all evening anyway. This is all so new to him that he hasn’t even considered that she probably thinks he’s a fool for getting so flustered at the close contact. He clears his throat, trying to appear more composed in her eyes as she rushes over to her phone, presumably to rewind the track.

“C’mon, I won’t bite you,” she chuckles good-naturedly and he even finds himself scoffing at the taunt. “Just help me try it one more time. I’ve got to get this timing right.” She pleads, but it's not like he has much of a choice to refute her request anyway. Or, not like he ever would. 

She rewinds about thirty seconds on her phone before setting the device down and making her way back over to where he’s literally cemented to the stage floor. She cues herself in after a few bars and begins singing once more, rejoining him under the stage lights in their earlier position. He swears that she’s close enough to notice how rapidly his heart is beating, but he tries not to dwell on his obvious anxiety too much. 

Her hand replaces itself on his shoulder. He doesn’t shudder at her touch.

“Take heart of grace…”

She’s even closer now, standing mere inches apart. She tilts her head once more, blonde waves spilling down her back like a graceful waterfall. He tries to focus, not letting himself get too lost in her eyes.

“Thy steps retrace…”

She gives a solitary nod and he figures that she intends that to be his cue for the faux-kiss. Not wanting to mess up her particular timing because he feels as though he’s two lyrics away from passing out, he leans in closer. The ends of their noses brush up against each other and he can smell her breath, minty and sweet, as if she had been eating a breath-mint. He feels her other hand reach up to loosely grip his arm and he parrots the action, placing a hand across her waist as if they were preparing for a waltz. Her bright blue gaze vanishes from view as she shuts her eyes gently and before he knows what he’s actually doing, his lips are on hers as he leans forward. He knows, logically, that the instrumental track is still playing in the background, but he doesn’t hear it. He can’t process much else except for the very simple fact that he’s standing on an empty stage with the girl of his dreams clutching him and he can literally feel her soft smile. 

The music returns as he pulls away, but she doesn’t continue singing. Her grin is too wide to do much else.

“Like that?” He questions, unsure of how the words are actually leaving his mouth. He’s actually relatively unsure of how anything in the last two minutes has actually happened, but he’d appreciate some clarification before continuing. 

“Yeah,” Haley grins, her voice the softest he’s heard it all night. “Like that.” she confirms and before he can process much else, she’s right back up against him. 

He doesn’t dare break away again.

xxx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a fun little chapter lol. anyway hope u enjoyed and leave a comment if you did!!


	17. sometimes what’s meant to break you makes you brave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another chapter! wrote this one today, hope you guys enjoy!! thanks for erin for motivating me to write even when i feel like dying. if you enjoy/want to see anything in this story, leave a comment down below!
> 
> Disclaimer: aspects of this work bear similarities to the separate publication “Patron Saint of Lost Causes”. the author of this work attributes the content in this chapter to the correct source (@themetaphorgirl). Publication of this work is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not replace the intellectual property of the above source. This work is intended for personal, non-commercial use only and the author attributes subsequently reproduced or reconstructed concepts to the original source, all rights reserved.

“Okay, what do you guys wanna do first?”

Penelope’s gaze dances from behind the hot-pink horn rim frames of her glasses. As their group of seven makes their way into the slightly over-crowded mall, she registers Spencer clutching her left hand just a bit tighter. The bustling throng of shoppers pays them no attention amidst the usual Saturday afternoon rush as the group hurries inside the expansive shopping center, the familiar smell of food court snacks and Cinnabon invading all of their senses at once. 

“Mick and I are heading elsewhere, see you guys later!” Emily declares at once as soon as Rossi leads them to a huge fountain located right in the center of the food court. Emily grabs her, admittedly slightly attractive friend, by the arm and pulls him away from their group with a flippant wave, leaving Rossi looking only slightly bemused.

Their expedition to the immense indoor, multi-story shopping mall has absolutely nothing to do with actually having a purpose to be there, and more to do with the fact that Hotch has kindly requested they leave him alone for a singular afternoon so that he can invite Haley over for their first official “date”. Penelope has to laugh at the notion, already well aware that the blossoming relationship her oldest brother is forming with the school’s star ingenue has been spread across the school gossip chain like wildfire. In fact, she had only heard of the couple actually becoming a couple because she had been in the girl’s bathroom when some of the kids in the musical were gossipping wildly about the rumors surrounding her brother. So, Rossi had been convinced (after taking a significant bribe) from Hotch to take them all to the mall for just a few hours so that he could spend some time with Haley. The teasing that ensued from that phrase alone for the last few days in their household had been utterly relentless, but certainly worth it for comedic purposes. While she knows that Hotch would never try to pull anything and that he really was just planning to watch her favorite movie with her and make popcorn, it was tremendously more fun to watch the color drain from his face while she, Derek, and Emily made incessant jokes about what ‘make popcorn’ really meant. 

“Well, now that Emily and her beard are gone…” Rossi mumbles to himself, looking less than enthused to be left with the rest of them while the only two kids closer to his age (besides Derek) have disappeared around a corner already. “What about the rest of you?” David asks, shoving his hands into his pockets as he turns towards them.

“Can we stop by Barnes and Noble first? I wanna see if they have the 1st edition version of Cosmos.” Spencer chirps up excitedly from her left, still clinging pretty harshly to her hand. He’s clearly not a fan of the congested mall judging by the way he refuses to let go of her. She figures the bookstore located inside the shopping center is more his speed. 

“Don’t you already own that one?” Derek ventures skeptically. Spencer merely rolls his eyes in a display of impatience.

“He does,” JJ asserts before Spencer can get a word in edgewise. “He forced me to listen to him talk about it all summer.” She reminds them tightly. Spencer huffs at their accusations. 

“That’s the paperback,” he groans in exasperation. “I’m looking for the hardcover, obviously.” He corrects ardently and Penelope has to stifle a giggle as Rossi mimics the boy’s earlier eye roll. 

“Oh, obviously.” David teases, eliciting chuckles from all of them except Spencer.

“Me, Spence, and Jayje can head over to Barnes and Noble,” she volunteers quickly, not minding watching over her two youngest siblings. She knows that Spencer will grow irritable quickly if he’s exposed to the bustling crowds and overflow of sensory input much longer. Besides, she’s always intrigued by the small figurines and trinkets they have on display in addition to the copious amounts of YA fiction or Doctor Who anthologies she loves to read. Derek and Rossi pay her little mind as their dual gaze follows a gaggle of teenage girls walking by and she suppresses a groan at the sight. Rossi, she expected this from, but not her Derek. She punches her older brother lightly on the shoulder in order to pull him from his hormone-infused trance. “I’ll leave you to...whatever it is you’re doing right now.” She informs them, wanting to distance herself from the situation as much as humanly possible. 

“Just meet back at this fountain by 5pm, alright?” Rossi suggests distractedly and she nods in response.

“Yessir, Papa Rossi.” She teases mockingly, knowing the new nickname will disturb and confuse the teenage boy. She smirks as Rossi’s gaze breaks from whatever girl he’s admiring across the food court and his eyes narrow into a distinctive scowl that reminds her too much of Hotch.

“Don’t,” He shudders, clearly perturbed by the comment. “Never again.” 

She merely shares a smile with JJ before she begins leading her younger brother and sister away from the older boys, ready for the reprieve of a quiet bookstore. Although, she can’t ignore the tinge of guilt when she realizes that she’s leaving Derek alone with Rossi. Especially when she hears the older boy’s voice taper off before they get too far out of earshot. She manages to overhear a particular gross comment about their vice principal before she picks up the pace, hoping silently that Spencer and JJ haven’t heard what David has just said.

It was definitely going to be an interesting afternoon, she was sure of it.

xxx 

“And this is Issac Asimov. He was one of the most prolific science fiction writers of all time. This book is called ‘The End of Eternity’ and it’s about this guy who…”

Although she’s not proud of her acquired skill, JJ has found that sometimes the best approach to hanging out with Spencer in the science-fiction center of a bookstore is just to attempt to tune him out as he drones on and on. And on. She loves her youngest brother, but the science talk just gets to be a bit much for her sometimes. Hotch or Penelope are much better equipped to listen to the 10-year-old ramble about quantum physics and Max Plank than she is.

She’s not sure how she ends up watching Spencer alone, but Penelope has surely snuck off to her desired young adult fiction section to peruse the titles there, so Spencer has dragged JJ across the store as he compiled a list of books that he was interested in. He probably only has enough money saved up to purchase one of the novels from his never-ending list, but he has his birthday coming up in a few weeks and she knows that he’s already planning to come into ownership of a few of the titles he’s currently drooling over.

She attempts to busy herself by glancing over the volumes on the shelves, keeping a peripheral eye on her brother in case he wants her to follow her somewhere else in the immense bookstore. She stifles a sigh of boredom, wishing silently that they were in the YA section with Penelope rather than the science and mathematics section. She’s not a huge fan of reading like her two siblings are, but at least there would probably be something more interesting on those shelves as opposed to novels explaining quantum mechanics in great detail.

The minutes drag by as Spencer makes himself comfortable on the carpeted floor and examines the lower shelves with great intensity. She tries not to yawn as she pulls a semi-intriguing looking cover off the shelf and attempts to appear interested for her brother’s sake while he’s occupied with taking inventory of the entire store. She’s just about to turn to the younger boy and ask if he’s ready to go find Penelope when a sudden voice surprises her, cutting into the comfortable ambience of the quiet store. She’s almost more surprised when she hears who the voice is addressing.

“Hey, Spencer! Is that you?” A chipper female voice gasps. JJ glances out from under her blonde fringe to see a few, definitely high school girls, approaching her little brother. She stands a good distance away, figuring that they probably just recognize him from school and she won’t have to get involved with anything. Still, she maintains a wary eye on the group of four girls. They look almost as out of place in the science section of Barnes and Noble as she does. 

“Oh my gosh, hi Spence!” a smaller, blonde girl squeals irritably. Her voice is already like nails on a chalkboard, but JJ visibly stiffens when the stranger addresses her brother with the nickname that she came up with years ago. Nobody else calls him that except their family-- and maybe Alex.

“What are you doing here?” A third female voice questions airly and JJ rolls her eyes. She’s not entirely sure what their angle is, but she definitely doesn’t believe that this is the type of group that Spencer associates himself with at school. She risks another glance towards the quartet of older kids and almost has to do a double take at who she sees, lingering silently behind them. Emily’s (now ex) best friend, Elle, stands a few feet behind the group of tall, supermodel skinny type girls. If she notices JJ, she doesn’t acknowledge her at all. In fact, she looks almost as uncomfortable as JJ feels overhearing this encounter. 

“Uh- I-I’m just looking,” Spencer stammers out, uncharacteristically at a loss for words. He sounds more nervous than just his usual self, but JJ figures that has something more to do with the fact that he’s clearly being personally addressed by some clearly attractive and popular girls rather than the fact that he’s just anxious. “You guys like science fiction?” He musters, feinging some courage in the conversation. JJ hides a grin from behind her blonde locks of hair. *Oh Spence,* she sighs inwardly *you really need Derek to give you some flirting lessons.* 

“It’s only my favorite.” The tallest girl in the middle replies in a saccharinely sweet tone of voice that makes JJ want to gag. It doesn’t take an IQ of 187 to understand that she’s not being genuine, but Spencer seemingly ignores that fact as the rest of the group chimes in. 

“Mine too.” The shorter blonde agrees readily. JJ can hear the cruel smirk in her voice without needing to look at her.

“It’s like, I never get enough of it, y’know.” The third girl adds, stifling her giggles with the shorter blonde. JJ notices that Elle remains silent, still hanging back behind them like a ghost.

“Y-yeah, me too.” Spencer chimes in and JJ feels a tinge of anger. It’s abundantly clear that he has somewhat of a burgeoning crush on these girls and they seem to definitely be making light of that by accosting him in a store and taking advantage of the fact that he’s not too keen on social cues. She figures all his social intelligence flies out the window completely once girls are added to the mix, not unlike Hotch. Still, she refrains from interrupting the conversation. If they can make it out unscathed without Spencer completely losing all self-confidence by her butting in and telling off the girls, she’ll opt for that scenario anyday. She doesn’t want to absolutely tear down her brother’s already dwindling self-image by explaining to him that sometimes when people are being friendly, they aren’t actually being friendly. 

“So...what are you doing here?” the middle girl asks, clearly the ringleader of the group. Spencer hesitates before answering.

“In the bookstore?” He questions tentatively. The two girls flanking their leader giggle once more, but the main girl merely smirks.

“No silly, in the mall,” She explains and JJ can hear her take a step closer to the boy. Her stomach twists into an irreversible knot at the sudden movement, not at all liking where this is going. Elle’s silence is incredibly telling, and suddenly JJ can understand why her oldest sister is no longer associating herself with the girl that she used to spend every single waking moment with. “Doesn’t seem like your type of place, Spence.” The girl adds, definitely emphasizing her voice to make it sound more alluring. JJ resists the urge to punch her in the nose right then and there.

“Oh! Yeah, you’re right, but um, well, uh...my brother-- Hotch. My oldest brother, not Derek,” he corrects himself haphazardly, the shaking in his tone evident of his nerves. She would be nervous too if somebody she clearly had developed a major crush on was interrogating her out of nowhere. “But anyway, Hotch said that we had to leave ‘cause-” He almost launches into an explanation as the girls loom by like a pack of voracious sharks who have just caught the first scent of blood in the water, but JJ finally breaks her gaze from the book she’s been pretending to read and steps forward, not wanting to let their game continue. She tries not to let her seething rage show at the catty group of teenage girls as she turns towards her younger brother.  
“Hey, Spence. Ready to go?” She questions calmly, doing her best to not glare at the girls, even if they did deserve it.

“Aww, don’t leave us hanging.” The ringleader chuckles, not at all masking her disdain for JJ interrupting. JJ dismisses her without reluctance, sick of whatever manipulative angle this girl is attempting to pull on her brother.

“Sorry, we really have to go.” She lies easily, glaring defiantly up at the group of snickering girls. Elle looks absolutely miserable at the whole situation, but JJ doesn’t pay her any more mind. She places a protective arm around her younger brother’s shoulder and begins to lead him away from the quartet of girls.

“Okay, see you at school, Spence.” The main girl calls, clearly feigning disappointment as JJ leads him away from his science and mathematics aisle. She rolls her eyes as she hears the rest of the girls almost immediately burst into laughter. Cruel, mocking laughter that penetrates the air and creates a palpable tension in the bookstore. She tries to ignore the sinking pit at the bottom of her stomach as she forcibly walks Spencer away from that section of the store, eager to put as much distance between them and the group as soon as possible.

Finally, when she discerns that they’re a relatively safe distance away, she removes her arm from around his shoulders and turns to face him.

“Do you know those girls? Other than Elle?” She grills immediately, suddenly feeling immensely protective over her brother. He nods eagerly.

“Um, yeah. Well, I mean...kinda? They go to our school. I think the short one is named Lena and the brunette is Harper,” He supplies casually, clearly not seeing much of a flaw in the situation. “And uh, Alexa. Alexa Lisbon was the tallest one. She’s a junior, and she’s- well, um, she’s-” At the mention of the group’s ringleader, he suddenly begins to stammer again and JJ doesn’t hesitate to cut him off. It’s no question that the 10-year-old is clearly smitten with the group’s leader.

“Yeah, okay,” She sighs heavily, definitely not prepared to have this conversation. Where was Penelope? The older girl was an expert at explaining things politely or cheering somebody up. “Have they ever talked to you before? Outside of school?” she interrogated, her serious tone definitely derived from the many times Hotch has had to lecture her or one of her siblings. Usually, she’s not prone to confrontation, but after the fight with her mother the week prior and the way that she witnessed those popular girls address her brother, she’s not going to back down from standing up to protect the kid just as Hotch or Derek would. 

“They don’t talk to me inside of school in the first place.” He scoffs mirthfully, clearly not seeing the reason as to why JJ is so concerned. She figures inwardly that his logic is probably pretty fuzzy due to the fact that he’s just withstood a conversation with three teenage girls, one of whom he’s undoubtedly enamored by.

“And you don’t find that a little suspicious?” She ventures warily, hoping he’ll come to his senses. It’s almost as if his IQ of 187 has been slashed to 60 within seconds.

Spencer falters, furrowing his brow in confusion as he attempts to process her question. 

“What are you trying to say?” He asks, and JJ feels the sudden urge to kick one of the heavy bookshelves nearby. She feels utterly defeated, especially now that the kid is attacking and doubting *her* rather than the group of teenage girls he should probably be skeptical of. She heaves a sigh, not really seeking to start an argument in the middle of the Barnes and Noble. She figures that she can just let the line of questioning go for now, but makes a mental note to mention it to Hotch and Emily later. They could probably watch out for him better than she could.

“Nothing,” she groans, doing little to mask her exasperation at the entire scenario. “Let’s just… let’s just find Pen and get out of here.” She instructs, feeling a pang of hurt as she attempts to replace her arm around Spencer’s now tense shoulders but the younger boy pulls away. She didn’t mean to offend him, but clearly he isn’t in the mood to hear any apologies from her. Although they search around the store together to find their older sister, it’s obvious that they’re miles apart from each other. That hurts JJ more than seeing him picked on by a group of bitchy girls.

She only wanted to protect him.

xxx 

“I hate it.”

“You look great!”

She glares at her figure in the full-length mirror, glowering at the pastel blue crop top she’s been coerced into trying on. The sleeves are incredibly short for a half-tee and she loathes the way that her midriff still shows despite the presence of the high-waisted jeans she favors most from her wardrobe. The exposing outfit is anything but flattering on her, but she especially detests the soft colors that contrast directly with her almost raven hair color and her ebony eyes. The only reason she had agreed to even entering the crowded Forever 21 in the first place was because Mick had offered up the very logical argument that her entire wardrobe only consisted of hues ranging from black to even darker black. She had groaned when her friend had presented her with a few clothing options, but had ultimately humored the good-natured boy by at least agreeing to try on a few of the least deplorable outfits. Every single time she emerged from the dressing room to display the way each shirt looked, Mick had responded with the same unbridled enthusiasm, and it was quickly growing old.

“I’m going to claw your eyes out if you say that again.” She threatens, only half-joking. Mick merely scoffs, rolling his eyes as she continues to pick apart her appearance in the mirror.

“Why are you so against anything with color in it?” The boy counters, clearly dismissing her warning of attacking him. She pulls a face when she turns around to see what the back of the shirt looks like. Honestly, she’s not completely averse to most of the clothing options that her friend has presented her with, but she pretends to be more disgusted than she actually is. This is most likely due to the overwhelming fact that the last time she was in this particular Forever 21 dressing room, she was there with Elle before school started. Her now ex-best friend had insisted that she should pick some new shirts for her wardrobe, not unlike how Mick had proposed the exact same thing. She’s not entirely sure if she’s so against the idea of purchasing new clothes because they’re not quite her style or because they remind her too much of somebody else. Somebody who had been steadily ignoring her for three weeks and one day.

“Because it’s disgusting,” Emily shoots back, pulling herself from her internal reverie as she replies to her friend’s earlier question. “Also, you’re one to talk, Mr. Leather Jacket.” She teases, referencing the boy’s favorite black leather jacket he sports most often. She jokingly bullies him quite a bit for his wardrobe choices, but he does so as well, so she figures fair is fair. In the wake of the dissolution of her friendship with Elle, however brief that may be, she has definitely found a respite in Mick. The Welsh boy was almost as desperate for friends as she was and they formed a fast bond after they started hanging out. Oftentimes, he would just show up at her work after school to talk to her while she cleaned and rung up withering antiques for customers. She certainly appreciated the casual company, especially considering the fact that Elle had informed the owner of the store that she would be taking a brief sabbatical from the store. Emily had scoffed upon hearing that from her boss, knowing that ‘brief sabbatical’ translated to ‘I’m not going to work with Emily so don’t even think about scheduling me anymore.’ Although she had been able to make light of the situation by joking with Mick, it didn’t mean that she hurt any less. The pain she felt when she thought of Elle and that night at the party was still fresh.

“I don’t see anybody else complaining about it.” Mick smirks and Emily rolls her eyes. Girls their age had been gawking at the boy in the mall all afternoon and it was beginning to grow old.

“Okay, himbo.” She quips sarcastically. Mick merely sticks out his tongue in a show of immature defiance. She’s just about to call it quits on the crop top and move onto the next shirt when out of the corner of her eye, just lingering beyond the lingerie/bra section, she spots exactly what she had been hoping to avoid all afternoon. Of course, there had been no physical confirmation of their presence in the crowded mall and Mick had even expressed to her how paranoid she was, but the math isn't difficult. If it was a Saturday afternoon, there was only one place that a certain someone could be. And right now, that certain someone and her haggle of unpleasant friends is less than two seconds away from spotting her and Mick as well.

“Oh shit,” She curses under her breath, silently wrapping a hand around Mick’s wrist and pulling him up from the bench he had been sitting on. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Get in here, don’t let her see you.” She hisses frantically, pulling her friend behind her back to the dressing room she had been occupying. Mick isn’t so eager to comply, however, and struggles in confusion as she attempts to pull them both away.

“Who?” He demands, fighting back from the viselike grip Emily has on his wrist. She doesn’t have time to explain, so she merely responds by giving his wrist another sharp tug, fervently attempting to get them both into the dressing room. “Ow!” The boy cries in protest. She continues to ignore him until they’re safely within the confines of the four-walled dressing room, standing amongst the discarded clothes she’s been trying on for the last twenty minutes. “Who?” He tries again after Emily finally releases her death grip on his skinny wrist.

*”Her!”* She hisses ardently, hoping he’ll get the clue without her having to elaborate more. Luckily, after a few seconds of confused silence, realization seems to dawn on the teenager.

“Ohhh,” he sighs, coming to terms with the whole event of being shoved into a cramped fitting room. “She’s not a murderer, Emily, stop freaking out.” He admonishes with a soft smile, but Emily can’t return the gesture. She suddenly feels as though she wants to vomit up everything she ate for lunch that day.

“She’s not but her little...side hoes are.” She groans in exasperation, referencing the clique Elle had been associating herself with in the wake of Emily’s forced absence. She’s never really understood or approved of Elle’s kinship with the popular girls in their grade, but she figures she doesn’t really have the right to comment considering she’s the one hiding in the Forever 21 fitting room that smelled faintly of latex and Elle isn’t.

“Side hoes?” Mick repeats, clearly stifling a laugh at the absurdity of her statement. She scowls at him.

“Shut up, I’m panicking.” She scoffs, anxiously picking at a hangnail on her thumb with her middle finger. *Just walk by, just leave the store, we don’t have to run into each other and ruin everything.* She wills silently, although knows that her prayers will be ignored. Mick looks on with increasing skepticism.

“You’re really just going to make us hide in here until she leaves?” He asks in disbelief, groaning as Emily nods.

“I’m prepared,” She asserts. “I’ve hidden in worse dressing rooms.” Mick regards her with slight humor, but clearly he’s not as content to stay locked up in the confined space for much longer.

“Well, I’m not. Stop being a coward and get out of here.” He demands, immediately switching gears. He lunges for the dressing room door, but Emily beats him there and they fight briefly for the handle. Mick manages to gain the upper hand and shove her back from the door, much to her distaste.

“No! Get back in here!” She orders in a fierce whisper, silently hoping that the group of terrifying girls is nowhere nearby. Mick forces the door open and shoots her a grin before reaching for her wrist, much like the same way she had managed to physically force him into the fitting room in the first place. His hand wraps around her left forearm, but just as he begins to pull, she digs her heels into the linoleum tile below in stubborn defiance. She’s well aware she looks about as mature as a five-year-old in that moment, but the fear of being exposed to that group greatly outweighs her perception of herself. Mick doesn’t hesitate in wrapping an arm around her bare midriff and she startles at the sudden touch as he tries to coerce her out of the dressing room. In the midst of her panic, however, she feels him laughing at her obstinate actions and she can’t help but allow herself to laugh as well in between swearing at the boy. “Mick, let of me! I-” She attempts to continue breathlessly, but basically dissolves into a fit of giggles as his arm continues to brush her barely exposed stomach. “Get off of me!” She demands, sounding considerably less threatening as she attempts to control her laughter. He manages to pull her forward a few feet as she attempts to regain her breath.

“You need to face your fears!” He manages to pant out between his own laughter. She twists wildly against the arm around her waist, but that only makes her more ticklish in the process.

“No I don’t!” She retorts furiously. “I’ll bottle everything up and then one day I’ll die! That’s how it works!” She informs him. He drags her out of the fitting room door completely and they continue to struggle even more so when she realizes that she’s no longer hidden from view.

“Just...come on!” The boy groans, giving one last heave. His efforts pay off and the two of them stumble out of the dressing room corner, tripping over each other towards the bench he was positioned on earlier. His arm leaves her waist, but he keeps his other hand still wrapped firmly around her wrist in case she attempts to run. However, she can’t even consider the possibility of moving anywhere once she realizes that literally every eye in the immediate vicinity is trained on them. Including Elle and her friends who have wandered closer to the fitting room at some point during the ensuing struggle between her and Mick. She’s absolutely mortified and frozen to her spot, barely registering the feeling of Mick relaxing his grip on her wrist. Briefly, she makes eye contact with a subdued Elle as the girl’s friends begin to whisper in hushed tones, softly snickering.

“Uh, hi.”

As soon as the words leave her mouth she regrets them immensely. She feels Elle’s gaze penetrate her figure, but it’s certainly not in the way she wants it to. Her former friend looks on with a mix of apprehension and what can only be categorized as pure shock, clearly not as amused as her group of friends. The distasteful glance lingers for an imperceptibly long moment before the other teens with her begin to usher her away, putting forth absolutely no effort to mask their cruel laughter and sneers. Emily doesn’t necessarily care about what Alexa Lisbon or Harper Hillman think of her, in fact, she could absolutely care less if they choose to laugh at her. What really stings is the absolute indifference in her friend’s soft eyes. Three weeks ago, she would have given up everything to keep staring into those dark brown orbs as they sat on the floor of some rich kid’s bathroom. She was convinced that there were thousands of star systems and galaxies behind those bright eyes, enticing her and stirring feelings she had never considered before that very moment. That evening had provided so much clarity in her life, and for a split second she was convinced that she would never feel the urge to ask another question again. Gazing at Elle like that-- it all just made complete and total sense, eliminating the need for any doubt or concern in her life.  
But, sometimes three weeks ago is three weeks ago. Sometimes it’s an eternity.

Now, there’s no more dazzling galaxies coaxing her to get lost in them and never return. Now, there’s only pain, dismissiveness, and an emptiness that Emily can’t quite describe without feeling the urge to cry. It hurts to see her that downtrodden more than it hurts to not be around her. She wants to run after her and wrap her up in a tight embrace, apologies spilling frantically from her mouth to hopefully amend the terrible situation they’ve found themselves in. She wants the girl she kissed on that bathroom floor back, but more importantly, she just wants her best friend. She wants the nights she spent on Elle’s living room floor with her, binging trashy netflix series and baking cookies at midnight just because they could. She wants the Sunday afternoon homework sessions where she would always end up giving Elle the answers to the chemistry worksheets they both struggled through. She wants driving around in the other girl’s car to get coffee before catching a movie that neither of them really wanted to see anyway, but they only do so because they’re enjoying each other’s company too much to part ways for the night. She just wants it back before it’s too late.

It’s Mick’s accent that tears her from her contemplative reverie and ultimately saves her from bursting into tears in the middle of that cursed Forever 21.

“Well, at least you’re not locked in a dressing room,” He observes bluntly, clearly trying to appease the tension with a hint of humor. She manages a weak smile, but that’s about all she can muster. She begins to turn around to head back into the fitting rooms to change out of the horrendous baby blue top she’s still wearing, but Mick stops her. “Oh shit.” He groans aloud and she shoots him a bemused glance. He gestures down to her left side and she lifts her arm to see what he’s referencing. She heaves a sigh when she notices the large tear in the shirt she definitely wasn’t planning on purchasing. Fantastic.

“You are so paying for this.” She shoots over her shoulder as she makes her way back to the fitting room where the rest of her clothes are. All she knows is that she needs to get the hell out of that store and probably drown her sorrows in some ice cream. She hears Mick scoff lightly behind her, following her to wait outside the door as she changes back into her more comfortable and completely color devoid attire.

“Not if we just...hide it...and maybe run.” The boy quips from outside the door and despite the panic and absurdity of the last few minutes, she allows herself to chuckle at the suggestion, feeling a bit of the weight leave her shoulders as she does so.

“You’re on.” She counters, slipping back into her blank shirt.

At least she’s absolutely sure of one thing: she’s never coming back to Forever 21 for the rest of her life.

xxx 

“How about her?”  
“Nah.”

“Her?”

“She’s like...a child.”

Derek frowns, watching intently with unbroken interest as the pair of high-school girls walk by. They pay the two teenage boys no mind, even though Derek purposefully donned his varsity jacket for this very occasion. Rossi has been infuriatingly indifferent to every pair of cute girls Derek has pointed out within the last twenty minutes of them being situated at one of the metallic food court tables under the innocent guise of just enjoying the chinese food they had purchased. Well, rather the chinese food that Rossi had purchased for him. They had been people-watching for the better part of an hour at that point, eager to find a few girls they could hopefully chat up to brighten up their afternoons. However, it was increasingly evident that Rossi really didn’t care for anybody under the age of 30, despite the fact that he was sixteen.

“Dude, she’s our age.” Derek groans, finally fed up with the other boy’s pickiness. So far in the time that they had been sitting there he had talked to exactly zero girls, and that wasn’t boding well with him.

“Listen, I’m just saying that if we’re talking about the level of physical attractiveness mixed with maturity and availability: MILFs are simply where it’s at.” The older boy explains with a hint of impatience. Derek sighs, dropping his head into the palms of his hands as Rossi elaborated upon his strange (and quite frankly, disturbing) fixation on older women. How Hotch managed to put up with this every single day was beyond him.

Luckily, he was saved from another lengthy explanation on how cougars differed from MILFs when Penelope approached the pair, a disgruntled looking Spencer and JJ in tow. She pulled a face as she overheard the last of Rossi’s comments.

“I’m going to pretend like I didn’t just walk up on an icky conversation of both of you blatantly objectifying women.” She chides, looking less than amused at David’s facetious grin. 

“Hey!” Derek defends as Penelope’s glare fixes upon him. “I wasn’t saying anything!” He asserts, although he doesn’t miss the way his two younger sisters both happen to roll their eyes at the same time.

“You certainly weren’t stopping it.” JJ adds accusingly. He’s just about to protest her claims when Emily approaches from behind the trio with her friend that Derek always happens to forget the name of.

“Stopping what?” The oldest girl questions, dropping a hand on JJ’s shoulder. The girl startles slightly before grinning up at her older sister.

“Rossi’s just being a pig.” She reports cheerfully and Emily scoffs while David coins an expression of mock-devastation. 

“I was simply educating-” David begins with a slight smirk, but Emily cuts him off before he can continue. Derek heaves a sigh of relief.

“Nothing new there,” the oldest girl grins mischievously. Her gaze drops to Spencer who has been uncharacteristically quiet throughout the entire engagement. Usually, he would have interjected avidly by now, ready to impart some actual wisdom on the group with whatever slightly relevant factoid he was inclined to share. But, he remained somewhat sullen, and Derek picked up on the same concern in Emily’s eyes that Hotch always got whenever there was a situation involving their youngest brother. “Hey, what’s wrong, short stuff?” Emily questions softly, rubbing a hand across his brunette curls. “You find the books you wanted?” She ventures warily, clearly unsure of how to approach the situation. Derek loves Emily, but she lacks a lot of the parental instincts that Hotch seems so naturally instilled with. 

Spencer gives a wobbly nod, biting his lower lip apprehensively as he attempts to carefully select his next few words. Already Derek knows that the younger boy is hiding something, but getting Spencer to divulge private information is tantamount to pulling teeth. Odds are, Penelope and JJ are already informed of the situation and he’ll just manage to coax the whole story out of them later.

“Yeah, I just wanna go home I think.” Spencer mumbles gingerly, glancing up to face Emily.

“Already?” The girl inquires in disbelief. Spencer nods once more before turning and tucking himself into an embrace in her arms. Derek watches as Emily tenses before relaxing into the hold. Usually, Spencer will only seek physical comfort from Hotch, so it startles both Emily and Derek to witness the kid being so openly affectionate. She rests one of her hands atop his head, eyes narrowing towards a guilty looking JJ and Penelope for an explanation. Derek withholds a chuckle, observing how eerily similar she is to Hotch when she grows protective like he does.

“We had a run-in at the bookstore with your ex-bestie and her friends.” JJ clarifies helpfully. Emily shares a brief glance with her friend before turning back to address the 10-year-old currently clinging to her like she’s his last remaining lifeline. 

“Okay,” Emily sighs softly, giving an understanding look at the sudden mention of her ex-friend. “Well, if you wanna go home and walk in on Hotch making ou-” She begins, but Derek cuts her off as he clears his throat pointedly.

“Em.” He warns succinctly, raising an eyebrow at her. It’s not that he doesn’t think the kid can handle that line of conversation, it’s just that he doesn’t think it’s the time for referencing that while the kid is in such a sensitive state.

“Making uh, *dinner*, with his girlfriend,” Emily corrects quickly, sharing a slight smirk with David at the slip up. “Then we can do that...or we can get some ice cream first?” She suggests lightly, Spencer visibly perking up at the proposition. Derek stifles a laugh as the kid pulls away from the embrace, surveying Emily’s face with red-rimmed eyes, almost as if he’s dubious of her offer.

“You can get coffee flavor…” The girl bribes in a sing-song tone, placing both of her hands on the younger boy’s shoulders as he faces her.

“Uh, he can’t.” Derek interjects once more, already knowing that Hotch will skin them alive if Spencer comes home hopped up on a caffeinated sugar rush. Plus, he’s doubtful that the Dairy Queen in the food court even offers a coffee flavor.

“You can get any other flavor…” Emily repeats in the same light tone, eliciting a genuine smile from the downtrodden boy. The rest of their group seems to relax as they watch the youngest nod reluctantly.

“Y’know, bribery is a pretty low blow,” He comments, running a hand across his face with the slapdash accuracy of an exhausted toddler. “Even for you.” He adds playfully. Emily reciprocates his grin.

“Yeah, I know,” She admits. “But it always works.” She teases, coursing a hand through the boy’s curls. Derek slides out from his seat next to Rossi and the rest of the group follows as they trail behind Emily and a significantly cheerier looking Spencer. 

All in all, it doesn’t end up being such a terrible afternoon. 

xxx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed! if you did, leave a comment down below!


	18. please let me say it one time louder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright so here’s chapter 18. it is VERY long (like 11k words) because i just started writing and couldn’t stop. anyway enjoy the Spencer Reid blatantly misreading social cues and ensuing panic chapter and also it’s a Halloween chapter! so there’s a bit of a time skip from chapter 17 to chapter 18 (about three or so weeks) because well...there was nothing else to write about during that period. so now it’s October, you’re welcome. thanks to erin for always motivating me even when im being a little bitch all the time. if you wanna hmu on tumblr @doctcrspencerreid feel free. anyway enjoy chapter 18 and leave a comment below if you liked it. thanks for reading!
> 
> Disclaimer: aspects of this work bear similarities to the separate publication “Patron Saint of Lost Causes”. the author of this work attributes the content in this chapter to the correct source (@themetaphorgirl). Publication of this work is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not replace the intellectual property of the above source. This work is intended for personal, non-commercial use only and the author attributes subsequently reproduced or reconstructed concepts to the original source, all rights reserved.

“I’ve gathered you all here today for a very important meeting.”

There’s only the five of them present currently, sitting haphazardly in various positions in the living room that evening. He’s still got his work uniform on from his shift that afternoon, but he doesn’t have any time to waste in organizing the brief conference with the majority of his siblings. By liberal estimates, he’s got maybe ten or fifteen minutes before they all have to disband in order to mask their clandestine assembly. So, he’s got to make this as quick as possible.

“Jeez, what is this? An intervention?”

Unfortunately, with Emily present, nothing is ever as quick as possible.

“Very funny.” Hotch deadpans mirthlessly, dismissing his sister’s sarcastic quip immediately. At any minute Alex could be back from the city library with Spencer in tow and under no circumstances can the youngest boy be present for their conversation. Especially considering the conversation’s main topic was him in the first place.

“I try.” Emily retorts with a dry smile. Hotch attempts to restart his spiel without acknowledging her.

“Anyway,” He begins pointedly, “I’ve gathered you all here today to discuss something very important. If you haven’t noticed-” He’s bordering dangerously on his ‘class project lecture’ tone when he’s interrupted abruptly once more, this time by an impatient looking Derek.

“Is this gonna take awhile?” The boy groans from his position on the couch next to Penelope. “Cause I think we all know that I haven’t touched my homework in a week and Spencer isn’t gonna help me with it again.” The kid half-jokes, although Hotch is relatively sure that his comment about ignoring his homework is completely accurate. He’s just about to assure Derek that the proceedings wouldn’t take so long if he wasn’t cut off every two seconds when Penelope interjects, glancing around the cramped living room.

“Hey, where is Spence?” The girl questions aloud, coining a confused look. 

“He’s with Alex,” Emily provides from her seat in the lumpy armchair across the room. “Probably didn’t want to show up for Derek’s intervention.” She adds jokingly and Hotch feels his scowl deepen. At this rate, he’ll never make it past his first line.

“Okay guys, c’mon we’ve got to-” He attempts to regain control of their goldfish-esque attention spans futilely, but it’s abundantly clear that they’ve veered too far off the track now.

“Hey! Why is it my intervention?” Derek protests crossly. Hotch slowly lowers his head into his hands. Great.

“Have you ever met anyone who uses that much axe body spray? It’s unhealthy.” Emily retorts, eliciting laughter from both JJ and Penelope at the observation. Hotch feels as though he’d rather drink a can of axe body spray than listen to them for another minute.

“Guys-” 

“Oh really? Would you prefer the alternative where I just-” Derek begins to defend himself testily, but Hotch finally feels himself reach the literal end of his rope. Infuriated, he breaks up the impending argument over Derek’s hygiene with a shout.

“Guys!” He admonishes harshly, immediately silencing their chatter. He feels tension settle over the group like a wave crashing against the shore and he groans. Why couldn’t they just have a normal family meeting for once? “Jesus, I knew this was a bad idea,” He mumbles, more to himself than anything as he pinches the bridge of his nose in unbridled exasperation. He hears faint whispers from Emily’s side of the room, but doesn’t dare engage with the girl, not wanting to encourage another derailment. “Look, okay, we’re here because we need to plan Spencer’s birthday party,” He reveals succinctly. Immediately the energy of the room shifts from a disinterested irritability to palpable excitement. The girls’ heads perk up at the mention of planning a party and even Derek seems to be significantly more intrigued. “However, I’m better off handling it on my own if you’re not going to zip it.” He threatens in order to send the message home. Technically, he’s fabricating that statement, but his siblings don’t need to know that. He’s absolutely ill-equipped to plan something as elaborate and creative as a birthday party for his youngest brother, which is why he’s choosing to employ the assistance of his siblings in the first place. Otherwise, he definitely would have cut out the proverbial middleman and just attempted to organize the entire event himself.

“Alright, Mr. Moody. What do you want us to do?” Emily ventures, always finding the opportunity to mock Hotch at every turn. He spares her one of his harsher looks in favor of addressing the group once more, trying to remain on-topic.

“Well, that’s the thing. His birthday is on a Wednesday this year, so we don’t really have a lot of options for a day where we’re all busy. But, Halloween falls on a Saturday this year and…” He doesn’t even need to continue his train of thought before Penelope cuts him off in her usual giddy, overexcited manner. He smiles wearily as the girl begins to ramble ardently, already knowing that most of the bigger details of the event will be up to her.

“That’s a great idea!” She practically squeals, emitting a high-pitch noise that Hotch is convinced can only be heard by dogs. “Oh my gosh, I can already see it. We can all dress up and have a Halloween themed birthday party!” She cheers, gaping at the mental image she’s concocted for herself. The rest of them share a knowing look as Penelope continues, nearly shaking with elation. “Oh, that’s adorable, it’ll totally surprise him. We can invite Alex and Rossi too and we’ll go trick or treating all together instead of it just being me, JJ, and Spencer like it was last year!” She cheers, already clearly dedicated to her plans. All of them are more than well-aware at this point that attempting to sway Penelope away from what she considers a great idea is nearly impossible once it’s been said out loud, but that doesn’t stop Derek from expressing his skepticism at the remark.

“Trick or treating?” He repeats half-heartedly, clearly not as enthused by the idea as Penelope. “Pen, I’m not sure-” He begins to voice his protests, but the younger girl doesn’t allow him to get much farther.

“Do you want to make your little brother happy, yes or no?” She demands bluntly and Hotch has to stifle his laugh at the question. Derek is clearly taken aback at her harsh demeanor and he stumbles as he attempts to answer. 

“I, uh, I-”

“Yes or no, Derek?” She repeats tersely. Finally, the older boy hangs his head and relents, probably coming to the realization that arguing with Penelope Garcia is tantamount to attempting to win against Spencer in a game of chess. 

“Yes I want to make him happy.” Derek sighs dejectedly. Much to the rest of the room’s amusement, Penelope immediately turns back to them and begins her fervid planning once more.

“This is such a great idea, Hotch. I already have ideas for a cake design. Ooh! And all of our costumes too…” Aaron shares a wary glance with Emily as the younger girl mentions the idea of Halloween costumes. He’s never been one to wear a costume for anything in life, let alone dressing up to trick-or-treat. The last few years he’s just chaperoned the younger kids in his hoodie and jeans, content to just hang back and watch Spencer, JJ, Penelope, (and even Derek once a few years back) approach the houses in Rossi’s neighborhood with open pillowcases. He doesn’t trust their own neighborhood to take them hunting for candy there, so oftentimes the group will spend the evening over on David’s side of town, which works out great for Aaron because it means he gets to hang out with someone closer to his age during the whole trick or treat nonsense he doesn’t care to participate in. Obviously, with his novel idea of combining Spencer’s late October birthday with his all-time favorite holiday, now he’s going to be forced into donning a costume for the evening and joining in with the rest of the group for once. Although, he figures it’ll at least be slightly worth it once they all manage to pull off the surprise for the kid’s eleventh birthday. 

He’ll manage it for a few hours at least, though. He can pull through for Spencer.

xxx 

It’s absolutely no secret that his favorite holiday of all time is Halloween.

He’s not quite sure of the origins for his very specific fixation on the day, but he figures it may have something to do with the ability to disguise oneself behind the guise of an intricate costume and slip entirely into a whole new personality for the evening. Not to mention the free candy.

He’s acutely aware of absolutely everything there is to know about the holiday. He’s immersed himself so deeply into his research on the day that every year when it rolls around, his siblings end up having to limit how many times he can bring it up throughout the duration of the month. Ultimately, he can’t help it. He gets inexplicably giddy and euphoric whenever he even processes the idea that Halloween is fast approaching, absolutely unable to contain himself as the day draws nearer. Even in August he’ll chirp excitedly about how Halloween is merely 78 days away or rattle off fact after fact about the historical culture surrounding his all-time favorite day.

It doesn’t detract from his elation that his birthday is only four days before the big event.

Although it always seems that his siblings are more inclined to celebrate the day more than he ever is, he still appreciates their dedication to going all out for birthdays. He’s definitely joined in on the party-planning committee to throw some impressive (even on a budget) celebrations for everybody’s birthdays in the past, so he’s really not at all shocked that evening when he arrives home from hanging out with Alex to see his siblings pretending to act nonchalantly around him, seemingly unaware of just how much he’s onto them already.

Sometimes, even his siblings forget that he’s still a genius.

But really, he still appreciates the effort more than anything. Despite the fact that he’s more of a Halloween enthusiast than birthday enthusiast, he just enjoys spending the time with his family whenever one of their birthdays rolls around each year. It feels as though they all just receive a temporary solace from the rest of reality for a few hours while they get to celebrate with each other, and he’s looking forward to that this year more than anything. Not more than putting together his Halloween costume when he goes trick-or-treating with Penelope and JJ again, but it’s still an event he’s been anticipating more than usual.

The past month hasn’t exactly been smooth sailing for any of them. With the addition of both football and soccer seasons, Hotch’s job and his extra-curriculars, and just the disorderly stress of life, there’s scarcely been a moment to just slow down and breathe for the small family. Spencer’s balancing not only his AP courses, but preparing himself and Morgan for their PSATs, robotics club, academic decathlon, and book club. Not to mention trying to avoid detection from the upperclassmen at Madison Heights who seem determined to make his life nothing short of a living hell each day. To their credit, he’s taken significantly less attacks, but he figures that has more to do with the fact that he reported them to the office after the infamous supply closet incident back in September. However, the decrease in physical assaults has caused a noticeable uptick in verbal assaults and petty glares from most of the student body, excluding his siblings, their friends, and Alex of course. 

In the midst of popular upperclassmen such as Kyle Moore and Jack Dern attempting to shatter what little self-esteem he already has, Alex has been his one steadfast friend outside of his family. The older girl is certainly likeable enough to develop her own set of friends in her grade, but Spencer’s heart swells when she informs him that she actually enjoys spending time with him during and after school. The two don’t share a lunch period because of the grade difference, but Alex also takes up residence at Hotch, Rossi, Emily, and Mick’s table during their lunch. Spencer finally feels as though there’s somebody in his life who isn’t obligated to hang out with him simply because they live together or they’ve chosen him for a lab partner in chemistry because he’ll do all the work. He’d be lying if he didn’t say that having somebody actually want to be his friend was a welcome change.

Of course, with the development of one of his first genuine friendships with somebody also comes the inevitable anxiety that he’ll somehow sever their connection and force her to never want to speak to him again. Although he knows that her reassurances that she actually does like his overabundant supply of knowledge and that she avidly listens to his fun facts are genuine, he still can’t help but grow wary that she’ll one day decide that she’s reached her limit and suddenly leave him. He really wishes that his brain didn’t operate that way, but after a lifetime of upheaval and abandonment, it’s not as if he can really help it.

But he does try, really, to believe Alex when she tells him that she enjoys his company no matter what. That’s why he eventually works up the courage on Tuesday after school while she’s animatedly discussing her theories on why their school desperately needs a philosophy club to ask her what he’s been struggling to bring up for the last week.

“Hey, Alex?” He begins tentatively as soon as their conversation reaches a lull. The dark-haired girl glances up from the several sheets of notebook paper haphazardly disseminated across their usual shared library table. The deep orange glimmers of the late afternoon sun stream through the window, creating a subtle glow as it filters through the glass and illuminates their pre-established seats directly next to the window. She shoots him an inquisitive glance and he tries to steady his mind, reassuring himself that she’s not going to laugh at him for simply asking a question. “Do you- well, I was thinking... just cause my birthday is tomorrow... and I know we haven’t been friends for that long but if you wanted to, um, did you wanna come over to our house tomorrow?” He questions, squeezing his eyes shut to avoid immediately gauging her reaction. His eloquent speech patterns used while divulging into his fun facts is completely void as he attempts to simply ask his first ever friend over to hang out for his birthday. He knows that it shouldn’t be this hard-- and it wouldn’t be if he was as confident and self-assured as Derek or as outgoing and personable as Penelope and JJ-- but he’s not. He’s him, so it’s more difficult to advocate for himself or to engage in meaningful friendships like the one he now shares with Alex. After a momentary pause, he cautiously reopens his eyes. The image that greets him, however, isn’t exactly the one he was expecting.

Alex is bent over her phone, frantically slamming her fingers against the keyboard as she types out a message to somebody. After a prolonged pause, she clearly moves to hit send and shuts off the small device before focusing her attention back on Spencer, a clearly strained smile plastered on her face in an attempt to make things appear as normal. 

“Sorry, that was...my mom,” She supplies as Spencer furrows his brow. After a month or so of being friends with her, he’s pretty adept at discerning how to read her emotions considering how much time he spends following her around like a second shadow. Instantly, he knows she’s merely placating him with a lie about who she just texted, but he doesn’t press the issue. It takes the older girl a split second of him staring her down with a deadpan expression to realize that he’s still waiting apprehensively for her answer to his request. “Um, that sounds fun. Is your family throwing you a party or something?” She presses, her thin smile growing even tighter as she questions him. Why is she suddenly acting so off? 

“I mean, they haven’t outright *said* anything yet but, they’re not very good liars. I think they’re throwing me a surprise party or something like that tomorrow.” He informs her, not adding the obvious fact that she’s not a great liar either. Alex suddenly grows concerned as he reveals this, her nervous lip-biting a dead giveaway. He wonders absentmindedly if she’s somehow gotten in on the surprise idea and now that he’s caught onto them she’s unwilling to inadvertently confirm his suspicions. 

“Tomorrow, right?” She repeats, avoiding his gaze by focusing down on the lined sheets of paper decorating their table. He nods wordlessly.

“I’m turning eleven.” He reminds her with a small reassuring smile, hoping that he hasn’t involuntarily put her in a compromising position, especially if she’s already involved in the surprise his siblings undoubtedly have planned. She begins to sweep her homework and books into a semi-organized pile, clearly doing so to distract her idle hands from being read by the attentive younger boy.

“I know, I already have your gift. I’m bringing it to school tomorrow.” She informs him, finally glancing up to meet his gaze as she shoves her textbook back into her open bag. He gives a grateful smile, but can’t help but notice how she pointedly states that she intends to bring it to school. 

“But you don’t wanna come over after school?” He falters, hating himself for the way he sounds so young and insecure in his tone. Alex places a few more of her things into her school bag, her shoulders slumping before she speaks again.

“I- I don’t know,” She finally admits after a tension-filled moment of silence. Spencer tries his hardest not to let her see his disappointment show, not wanting to burden her into complying or surrendering any information. “I’ll ask, okay?” She promises, offering up a small smile. Spencer nods once more and watches with rapt interest as she finishes packing her things up, clearing her half of their shared library table. “You want a ride home?” She proposes. He sighs, really hoping that he hasn’t just inadvertently driven away his only friend with his needy and immature line of questioning. Why did he have to constantly seek her validation like he was some helpless little kid? Part of him tries to reason that maybe Hotch really has invited her already and she’s just trying to preserve the element of surprise for tomorrow by cleverly avoiding his questions and not providing him with a clear answer, but he would much rather prefer the confirmation that she doesn’t actually hate him than a surprise party that he’s already uncovered anyway. 

It’s kind of comical, really. Every single birthday for his siblings they go all out for each other, so it’s not like he isn’t already expecting tomorrow. Besides, he’s asserted time after time that all he ever really wants (aside from his neverending book list) is to just spend time with them for an evening. He’s not entirely sure why they’re all suddenly walking on eggshells around him, like they’re all informed of some horrible secret about him that he can’t know by any means. They should know by now that he doesn’t even really care what they do as long as they all get to hang out together. All he wanted to do was include Alex in that regard, but her sudden terseness and anxiety has him second-guessing basically everything about their friendship as he clambers into her car in the passenger seat and buckles up for the ride home. He tries to push the self-deprecating nagging from the back of his mind and does his best to convince himself that the only reason Alex reacted so unexpectedly was because she’s actually in on the futile ‘surprise’ for tomorrow evening and that she really will show up after school to hang out with them. He ignores the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as his mind works tirelessly to coerce him to accept the belief that with a singular, ill-timed question he has upset the natural order of everything and completely derailed and destroyed the friendship he’s worked so hard to develop over the last month. Deep down inside, he knows this can’t be true, but it’s hard to regard the situation rationally after her completely unorthodox reaction.

That night, he’s lying in bed with his PSAT study book laying open in his loose grasp, but he’s barely invested in the practice problems on the pages before him. He registers Derek opening the door to their room and setting his gym bag down on his own mattress, but doesn’t look up to greet the older boy with his usual enthusiasm. Somehow, he just feels like anything he might say at this point could be taken the wrong way and misconstrued just as his conversation with Alex had been. So, Derek ends up being the one to strike up a conversation as he begins pulling his laundry from his equipment bag.

“Hey kid, you excited for tomorrow?” His older brother prompts cheerfully. Spencer’s eyes flicker between the too-easy mathematics section of the PSATs and his brother, carefully considering how to answer his question. Would he grow as terse and touchy as Alex about the subject? He didn’t want to accidentally offend the older boy because he seemed too forthcoming.

“Yeah, it’ll be fun,” He admits truthfully, carefully folding the upper corner of his page before shutting the heavy practice textbook. 

“I’m sorry I won’t make it until late, y’know how practices run.” Derek shrugs apologetically, but Spencer merely furrows his brow. It seems a bit odd to him that Derek is just openly referencing the event he’s not supposed to know about tomorrow evening following the conclusion of the school day, but he chalks it up to his older brother’s tendency to always let secrets slip no matter what.

“That’s okay, I’m excited anyway,” Spencer gives a weary smile, reassuring his brother. “And appreciative. You guys really didn’t need to do any of that, but I’m grateful.” He adds frantically, hoping he doesn’t come off as ungrateful towards his siblings, especially since he didn’t outwardly ask them to plan anything for him. “It’s a nice gesture, really. So I appreciate it. And you.” He adds succinctly, being as vague as possible to avoid another repeat of his earlier conversation with Alex. However, Derek merely chuckles as he wraps up his long-winded roundabout way of thanking him.

“Uh, I mean, it’s just dinner and ice cream cake, kid. You don’t have to stress about it.” The older boy laughs good-naturedly, turning towards his dresser to pull out some of his flannel pajama bottoms and a black v-neck in order to prepare for sleep. Spencer quirks a knowing smile, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. Derek already basically ruined the secret, why keep up the facade if he already knows? This was becoming a bit exhausting.

“Right.” He confirms curtly, emphasizing the word to show that he was on the same level of understanding as Derek. His brother, however, doesn’t seem to catch his clandestine message.

“Yeah, right…” The older boy parrots awkwardly, missing Spencer’s clue completely as he shoots him a skeptical look. He begins to change into his pajamas and Spencer’s eyes retreat back to the safety of his PSAT textbook, becoming more and more fed up with everyone pretending like he couldn’t tell what they were planning. How dense did they think he was, really?

Later on, when the room has been encompassed in the inky blackness of twilight, save for the singular nightlight (that Hotch claims is for all of them in order to ease Spencer’s apprehension about needing such a babyish tool), he lays awake on his back, eyes fixated on the popcorn ceiling a few feet above his head. He contemplates where his mother is at this exact moment, whether or not she’s laying in the exact same position approximately 2,449 miles away and thinking of her only son as he makes the monumental leap from ten-years-old to a fully grown eleven. He wonders if she’s having one of her episodes or not, whether she even remembers his name at that moment. He wonders if there’s some way he could coerce the doctors at the sanitarium to let her speak to her over the phone for just five minutes. Five minutes to hear her voice, tell her that he still loves her no matter what, and to hear her wish him a happy birthday.

But he knows that won’t happen. He’s been told time and time again that the meds keep her complacent and keep her mind subdued enough to prevent any major breaks or setbacks in the progress they’re making. He knows that if he requests to speak to her, he’ll be placated with a lie about how well she’s doing, but “your mother is sleeping right now, we’ll let her know you called, Samuel” and before he can correct them on his name, the polite receptionist will inform him to try again another time. There’s only so many times he can try before facing the reality that she doesn’t want to speak to him. Or worse, her mind is so drug addled with the perpetual cocktail of prescription medications that she doesn’t remember him. 

So, it’s okay. Really, it is. He has his family here, and although they’re not his mother, they’re close enough. He knows that he’ll come home from school tomorrow with Penelope on the bus and Hotch, Emily, Derek, Rossi, JJ, and even Alex will have planned some form of surprise birthday event for him. They’ll eat dinner together and play card games or watch movies until one of them finally crashes for the evening and they decide to draw the festivities to a close. He doesn’t want much, really. Just wants to spend a few blissful hours surrounded by his family and friends to block out some of the more unpleasant facets of life, like the glares from upperclassmen in the halls or the way he tenses whenever somebody casually mentions schizophrenia. 

That’s all he wants for his birthday. One day of respite from the tedious monotony of his day-to-day life. That’s not too much to ask for, he thinks.

xxx 

Wednesday, October 28th arrives in a familiar, absolutely predictable fashion.

And it stays that way.

Spencer Reid will be the first to admit that he favors a solid routine over unplanned chaos wreaking havoc on his schedule. He wakes up, brushes his teeth, splashes his face with ice cold water from the tap that couldn’t produce hot water if there was a gun held to its head, and starts his weekdays. He appreciates the implementation of an unwavering schedule that he can abide by, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t open to change sometimes.

Wednesday, October 28th is no exception, and the schedule remains firmly in place.

Of course, he does receive a few “happy birthday, Spence” early morning greetings in place of the usual “don’t just stand there, kid” or “your shoes are untied again” which he appreciates. At the breakfast table, Hotch slips him a wrapped parcel as the group of six eagerly devours their food. He shoots his oldest brother a meaningful grin before carefully removing the iridescent wrapping and pulling out a new copy of “The Physics of Star Trek” which was his number one book choice on his list. He beams at the rest of his siblings, thanking them multiple times for the gift.

The rest of the day occurs in a relatively textbook manner. Alex greets him at school that morning with a hug that he surprisingly doesn’t tense at and the girl watches with unbridled excitement as he unwraps his gift from her, revealing a $25 Barnes and Noble gift card. He reminds her politely that she really didn’t need to get him anything, but Alex brushes him off with a smile, insisting that she wanted to celebrate his birthday. However, he neglects to remind her of his invitation to their house after school, wary of upsetting the balance once more.

School is the same as always. He endures petty shoves in the crowded hallways, glares from his classmates, and the drudgery of his AP US History lecture before the final bell finally signals the conclusion of the school day and he feels his heart leap slightly into his chest as he rushes out to the school bus area to wait for Penelope. Both of their schedules align so that they don’t attend any extracurriculars on Wednesday afternoons, so they’re typically the first ones home. He figures this afternoon will be the exception to that mandate. As the two siblings take the familiar bus route back to their neighborhood he wonders if the rest of his siblings are planning to try and distract him somehow to set up the surprise or if they’ve already done so prior to his and Penelope’s impending arrival. It’s hard to contain his excitement at the notion, although he’s really just elated by the fact that they’ll all be able to spend a single afternoon together like they used to before everybody got so hectic and busy. He almost trips a few times after he and Penelope de-board the bus and make the five minute trek back to their home at the end of the street. He tries his best not to bounce on his heels impatiently as Penelope fumbles with putting her key into the door, clearly not in any kind of rush. As the paint-chipped balsa wood door swings open and the two siblings cross over the threshold, he debates over whether or not he should immediately reveal to them that he knew about their plans the entire time or he should just try and go along with acting shocked. He decides on the latter, unconsciously feeling his heart skip with excitement as he takes a few tentative steps into the front room of the one-story rental house. A beat passes and he pauses, eyes darting about the room in eager anticipation. Another beat.

“Are you just gonna stand there the rest of the night?”

The voice of his older sister drags him abruptly from his frozen state of suspense and he blinks a few times, Penelope chuckling as she strides past him into the connected living room, dropping her backpack on the cheap stained floor rug. That’s what the realization strikes and he feels a deep blush creep its way onto his face. Jesus. There’s really nobody else there right now, it’s just them, and he’s standing cemented to the linoleum tile by the front door entrance, foolishly expecting the rest of his siblings to suddenly materialize for a surprise party that evidently, they weren’t actually planning for him.

He’s never felt more stupid.

There’s a sinking feeling in his stomach as comprehension dawns on him of just how obtuse he’s been these past few days. His mind rapidly retraces its mental steps, trying to piece together just when his line of thinking got so off from the obvious truth, but that’s the exact issue. All the signs that they were planning something special for him were in plain sight, despite the numerous times he’s reassured them over the years that they don’t need to put anything together for something as insignificant as his birthday. Their mannerisms and behaviors in the past week have been absolutely identical to how they’ve acted every single time somebody’s birthday rolls around. Even Derek’s fifteenth birthday had been the exact same way in terms of shared clandestine looks and whispered phrases, so he figured he couldn’t be too far off from the truth. But, evidently, he was. He had completely misread the signals from the people he believed he knew best and could predict the most easily. And now? Now he looked like some impudent child, just stubbornly expecting everything to always be the same as it had been.

*’You’re eleven now,’* a voice chimes in from the back of his mind. *’You’re not a little kid anymore, you need to grow up and stop thinking that they actually wanted to celebrate your birthday.’* his thoughts admonish reproachfully and he silently agrees with them. His father was always a strong proprietor of the belief that he needed to mature sooner rather than later. This was a perfect example of how his immaturity had gotten the best of him. Why had he readily expected something that he so ardently refused, instead always advocating for the simpler, lowkey celebration without all the unnecessary pomp. So they had finally listened to him, that didn’t give him a right to be upset because they had thrown similar parties for Derek or JJ in the last few months and now they weren’t for him. He was the one who told them he’d prefer just spending an afternoon with them over any kind of event, so why did he still feel like he’d just been punched in the gut?

However, he was still grateful for them no matter what. He knew that because they had forgone the celebration aspect this year for him that he would still be able to have a nice and relaxing evening with his family over dinner. Besides, that was truly all he wanted anyway-- just for all of them to be together.

Slightly reassured, he ends up retreating into his bedroom to begin on the copious amounts of homework he has to finish before tomorrow. He hears the familiar sound of Emily and JJ arriving home over the course of a couple hours and the telltale signs of somebody preparing dinner in the kitchen, who he figures must be Hotch. He feels a little bit more at ease now, especially after dismissing his initial disappointment over being wrong about their intentions. When Emily knocks on his door around 7pm and alerts him that dinner is ready, he eagerly leaves his silent bedroom in order to meet his siblings at the dinner table. At least, he figures that they can all be together for at least part of the evening.

Of course, that doesn’t seem to be the case either.

As he approaches their worn-down and slightly wobbly dining table, he’s anticipating to see all of his siblings gathered around in their usual seats, awaiting his arrival. Instead, he sinks into his chair next to JJ on their side of the table, also joined by Emily and Penelope. Hotch and Derek are clearly absent, and true to Alex’s word, there’s no presence of her either (which was admittedly still a bit far-fetched, but wouldn’t they have chosen to invite her to dinner if they were purposefully foregoing any form of party this year anyway?). He tries, but evidently fails, to keep his expression neutral and free of despondency as he serves himself one of the turkey hot dogs Emily has prepared that evening. He doesn’t mention that he hates turkey hot dogs.

“What’s wrong, Spence?” JJ questions naively a few minutes into the meal. The girls have been animatedly chattering about their respective days, but he’s remained uncharacteristically silent the entire time. 

“Is Hotch not coming?” He asks tentatively. He’s well aware Derek is still going to be at football practice due to the fact that the older boy had already informed him that he would be late, but he at least figured that Hotch would show. Especially considering his theory that they had decided to go the route of a simple dinner in place of any other festivities this year. Emily shoots him a wary glance.

“Hotch works until 8 every Wednesday. You know that.” The older girl explains pointedly, as if it’s the most obvious concept in the world. Of course, at this point, it should be obvious. He’s well aware of what Hotch’s after school schedule looks like everyday and how it’s looked for the past few years, but that doesn’t mean he’s still not a little disheartened to hear that his oldest brother isn’t going to be in attendance. They’re not going to be spending an evening together as one cohesive family unit. Instead, it’s the same fragmented discombobulation that he’s used to every other day of the week. Why should he expect today to be any different?

He excuses himself shortly thereafter, clearing his plate and depositing it into the sink. The sun has almost completely disappeared behind the horizon, signalling the end of the day. The end of Wednesday, October 28th. The end of his birthday. 

He hears Hotch and Derek arrive home not long after, but at that point he’s already brushed his teeth and changed into his pajamas. He’s curled up under his duvet cover when Derek knocks lightly on the door, asking him if he wants cake or not. Of course he does, but his mood has also been completely subdued at this point, so he opts to pretend to be asleep instead. He doesn’t intend to, but he can’t help but feel slightly upset towards himself as he lays silently in his bed. He knows that he’s mature now and that he can’t continue getting utterly dejected over every small inconvenience in life, but he really feels as though his eleventh birthday has just passed through without so much as a second glance from his family and Alex. He’s well aware that he was the one who proposed the idea of just wanting a quiet evening surrounded by his siblings for a singular dinner, but even that didn’t occur because of their disjointed and overloaded schedules. He still appreciates them, but he can’t help but feel as though they definitely put more effort into Derek’s fifteenth or Penelope’s fourteenth earlier that year, but they’ve essentially regarding his birthday with a perfunctory nod and moved on completely. He doesn’t want it to hurt, but it definitely does sting a bit as he considers the options in his mind as to why they would dedicate so much more time to planning elaborate surprises for Derek or Penelope or JJ, but dismiss him with such ease.

He definitely feels as though it would sting less if they had just forgotten completely. 

*’Isn’t it obvious?’* the ominous voice in the back of his mind persists despite his best attempts to force its cruel reminders from his conscience. *’Your father was right. You need to stop being such a baby and get over yourself. They’re doing this because they’re sick of always having to cater towards you or listen to your stupid facts. You need to be more independent.’* The voice snarls menacingly, but somehow he feels as though it’s right. Perhaps his logical thinking is slightly impaired because of the palpable disappointment of being so disregarded on the one day where everything was just supposed to go right, but he feels as though he’s listening to the voice of reason rather than his illogical intrusive thoughts. 

*’I can be more independent then. I won’t annoy them anymore and then they’ll actually want to be around me. It’ll be okay.’* He reassures himself, choking back the inevitable tears. He repeats this mantra for a while, eventually slipping into a dreamless sleep well before he usually does each night. But he holds back his self-pity with ease, not wanting to let anybody in their household see that he’s disheartened by the day’s events. 

His father was right. He needs to be more mature now. It was only a matter of time before he came to the right conclusion.

xxx 

On Tuesday evening, he receives his second text from Alex Blake.

The first had come in when he had informed the girl of his plans for Spencer’s upcoming birthday. He had explained to her his plans for holding a family meeting without Spencer present and Alex had readily agreed to distract him for an hour or so in order to keep him away from the house. He supplied her with his emergency cell phone’s number so that he could shoot her an ‘all clear’ once the meeting had concluded and it was safe to bring Spencer inside so he wouldn’t overhear any of their brainstorming session.

The second reads simply: he’s onto us. At first, he glares down at the tiny screen with confusion, but the meaning becomes relatively clear after a moment of contemplation. Still, he doesn’t stress about it. Spencer’s bright enough to know that they had to be planning some elaborate event for his birthday, (well more accurately, for Halloween), so he merely brushes it off after reassuring Alex not to worry. The plan is still on for that Saturday evening and he’s gotten confirmations from everyone that they’ll be available for the celebration. Including Haley.

He had been understandably anxious about inviting her over for Halloween but once he explained that they were going to throw a party for his younger brother, she had immediately invited herself and began eagerly planning the costumes they were going to wear trick-or-treating. A deep blush had spread across his cheeks and ears and lingered for what felt like days afterward, but he loved the giddy feeling that occurred whenever he was in her presence. Especially now that she had begun referring to him as her ‘boyfriend’, much to Rossi’s amusement. 

So, he doesn’t think much of it when he arrives home from a shift that Wednesday on Spencer’s actual birthday to find the boy asleep before 9pm. He figures the kid is just exhausted from a long day of school and chooses not to comment. He knows they’ve gone minimalistic for the actual day this year, but that’s only because of the large-scale plans they’ve all got for that weekend in order to surprise him. He doesn’t believe there’s anything to worry about.

Then, Thursday happens.

The kid wakes up well before Hotch can issue his first reminder that morning, rising just a few minutes after Hotch wakes. He chuckles, trying to assure the kid to go back to sleep for the time being, but Reid insists that he woke up this early on purpose. So, Hotch relents and allows the kid to stay awake. That doesn’t make it any less difficult to ignore the deep bags hanging under his eyes, a clear indicator that he didn’t receive much sleep the night prior anyway. 

He goes about his own usual morning routine, showering briefly and getting dressed for the school day. When he meanders into the kitchen, he’s shocked to find Spencer already dressed and preparing breakfast much in the same manner that Hotch tends to. The kid is obviously hesitant around the electric stovetop, so Hotch is relegated to scrambling the eggs for everyone, but Spencer takes the lead in preparing toast and bowls of cereal for all of them. He even sets the table and lays out some of the snacks Hotch sends them to school with in order to speed up their usual process. And while Hotch isn’t averse to having another pair of hands in the usual stressful morning, he can’t help but feel like something’s off in Spencer’s behavior. 

He does his best to casually dismiss it, chalking the helpfulness up as the kid wanting to be more like him or something of that nature. He honestly almost forgets about the sudden shift in routine until after rehearsals that evening when he returns home and Spencer is cooking dinner completely solo in the kitchen. He feels himself scowl at the sight, eyes scanning the room for anybody supervising. He immediately notices Emily sitting adjacent to JJ at the kitchen table, idly scribbling in the margins of her notes. He doesn’t hesitate in pulling her aside and instantly questioning her lapse in judgement.

“He’s the one who shouted me out of the kitchen when I tried to help him!” Emily defends ardently in a fierce whisper. Hotch feels his frown deepen as she reveals the stubborn nature of the youngest boy, wondering what exactly possessed him to develop such a defensive stance.

As he eats the salad Spencer prepares for them, he can’t help but stare down the kid in a futile attempt to possibly uncover his particular motivations. But, he comes up empty in his examination of Spencer’s casual facade and he ends up going to bed that evening as confused as he was when he woke up that morning. 

Friday is almost an exact repeat of the day prior, except for the discussion over dinner which begins to set off some real warning flags in his mind.

The six of them are crowded around the table in their usual seats. Derek and JJ don’t have games due to the holiday the next day so they’re all sharing dinner together for the first time that week. He’s been especially careful to remind himself and the rest of his siblings not to mention anything about their Halloween plans that might alert Spencer about the surprise party they’re planning for him, but he brings up the subject over dinner that evening in order to set the first phase of his plan in motion.

“Is your costume ready for tomorrow, kid?” Hotch questions casually, regarding Spencer with a meaningful look. The kid in question barely glances up from his plate, instead opting to push his food around with a disinterested look. That’s what really tips him off-- the lack of his usual unbridled enthusiasm whenever Halloween is mentioned. He expects the typical outpouring of facts and info-dumping on the complicated origins of the holiday, but receives nothing of the sort. Not even a single factoid about the traditions surrounding trick-or-treating.

“Yeah, I dunno.” The kid shrugs ambivalently, his lips spreading into a thin line. Hotch can’t help but raise an eyebrow in absolute shock at the underwhelming reaction. To his right, Emily seems to pick up on his concern and attempts to insert herself into the conversation.

“Who’s that guy you wanted to dress up as? Alex Fisher or whoever?” The older girl cuts in, trying to coerce Spencer into speaking. Hotch absentmindedly wonders if the kid is getting sick again and worries his lower lip with his teeth, furrowing his brow as he does so.

“Albert Fish, he was-” Spencer corrects and almost, *almost* begins to launch into his long-winded explanation as to who the basis of his costume this year is, but immediately ceases before he can get too far, only adding to the rest of the table’s concerns. “Yeah, it’s Albert Fish.” He concludes softly, going right back to pushing what’s left of his dinner around on his plate. The tension in the air remains thick and suffocating for the remainder of the time Spencer sits at the table until the youngest boy finally declares himself full, much to Hotch’s chagrin. However, he takes pity on his brother and allows him to clear his plate before he retreats back into the isolated confines of their bedroom across the hall. It’s only after he hears the telltale sign of the door clicking shut that he begins to address his other siblings, finally expressing his unease out in the open.

“Okay, anyone else notice that?” He demands instantly, surveying the rest of their faces for any hint that could point towards an explanation.

“Yeah, something’s definitely eating him. What gives?” Derek adds, shooting a pointed look towards Emily as he does so. The girl notices his emphasis on her and her gaze grows stormy.

“Don’t look at me!” She exclaims, keeping her voice pitched relatively low in order to avoid detection from the youngest boy who still could be eavesdropping from behind his door a few yards away. “You’re the one who’s supposed to be watching out for him during passing periods.” She accuses furiously. Derek opens his mouth to protest, but Hotch cuts in quickly, not mentally prepared for an argument tonight.

“Clearly, he’s not okay. Even Alex told me and Rossi that he’s been more withdrawn lately. Plus he’s barely gotten any sleep these last two nights.” he informs the table, realizing the gravity of the situation only as he speaks these words aloud. 

“He’s been acting kinda off since his birthday the other day.” Penelope pipes up from the other end of the table, having been sitting there pensively throughout the discussion. Emily confirms this suspicion with a solitary nod and Hotch feels his frown lines deepen. What could have upset the kid so badly that he felt like he needed to hide himself away from them?

“Maybe it’s his mom,” JJ speculates softly, unknowingly reading Hotch’s silent question. “Maybe he just misses her or something?” She shrugs and Hotch feels his stomach churn. Unfortunately, that was one of the few issues that he knew he couldn’t solve, no matter how badly he wanted to. If he could, he would do everything in his power to be able to have Spencer talk to his mom, but he didn’t have that authority. The rest of the table falls into a somber mood at the mention of the youngest boy’s parental figure, fully aware of the tumultuous history he had with his family before coming to live with them when he was seven. It was a touchy subject for all them, usually avoided at all costs in order to keep the peace and maintain a stable mental state. Hotch knew from personal experience that lingering in the mistakes of the past was a surefire way to detract from the functionality of his current life, and he couldn’t take that risk when he was in charge of five other kids. So, they rarely had open, vulnerable conversations about the events of their other lives, almost dissociating from that section of their personalities completely. It was by no means a healthy coping mechanism, but sometimes it had to be that way in order to survive.

“Do you think one of us should try and talk to him?” Emily proposes. Hotch doesn’t need to be looking at them to sense four pairs of eyes trailing his way, silently volunteering him for the task that he was bound to end up doing no matter what.

“Subtle of you,” he scoffs, pushing an agitated hand through his dark hair. “I’ll talk to him tonight before bed.” He informs them, but he can’t ignore the deep sinking in his stomach that tells him he may as well be speaking to a brick wall in terms of emotional vulnerability right now. He feels partially (well, entirely) at fault for probably influencing Spencer’s defensive stance and he knows that if he attempts to open up a dialogue with his younger brother that he’ll be rebuffed in no uncertain terms. But, he has to try anyway.

Unfortunately, by the time he and Emily finish cleaning off the dinner table and washing the dishes, Spencer is already genuinely asleep in their shared bedroom. If he actually suspected the boy of feigning sleep in order to avoid an unpleasant conversation he definitely would have called him out and forced him to sit up and talk for a bit, but he can tell by the heavy rise and fall of his chest underneath the thin sheet that the kid has finally managed to tire himself out to the point of needing rest. He doesn’t have the heart to shake him awake and face his tear-stained cheeks, so he allows him to rest. It’s what he needs most at that moment, Hotch figures.

But that doesn’t ease the guilt he still feels. It doesn’t stop him from rapidly speculating every possible error he could have made to drive his youngest brother into such a state. It doesn’t end the criticisms that his mind produces with ease as he gets himself ready for bed that evening, causing him to reevaluate every single choice he’s made in the last few months. Logically, he should know that everything wrong with the kid can’t possibly fall on his shoulders, but oftentimes logic just doesn’t cut it. 

He tries to focus on the positives as he slips into his own bed that evening, eventually keeping himself up much later than he’d like to be awake with his own intrusive thoughts. He reminds himself that no matter what, their surprise party for Spencer will cheer the kid up and hopefully drive out this streak of negativity from their usual chaotic, buoyant household.

He knows tomorrow will be better. It just has to be.

xxx 

“It’s not...disgustingly undead enough yet. Y’know what I mean?” 

Her nose twitches as she gazes skeptically at her younger sister’s face, taking in the appearance of the gory zombie makeup she’s just spent the last twenty or so minutes applying to her freckled countenance. JJ’s thin blonde hair is pulled into her signature high ponytail, but Penelope has insisted on keeping a few of the messy strands and baby hairs out of the hair tie’s hold in order to make her look a bit more unkempt. The younger girl is sporting her school’s soccer uniform and her worn-down Nikes, having claimed that her cleats were too precious to wear out on the street for trick-or-treating. However, when Penelope caught a glimpse of her sister’s so-called ‘costume’ she insisted on applying the same amount of grotesque zombie makeup she had used for her own costume in order to spice things up a little. So, JJ who had previously been going as ‘Abby Wambach at the 2011 FIFA Women’s World Cup quarterfinal match’ was now going out as ‘zombie Abby Wambach at the 2011 FIFA Women’s World Cup quarterfinal match’. 

“I think if you add any more fake blood around my eye I’m not going to be able to see straight for a week.” JJ points out with a scoff, pushing herself away from Penelope’s grip on her shoulder. 

“Well, I guess you’re as zombie-fied as you’re going to get then.” Penelope shrugs, taking the utensil she was about to use on JJ’s face and adding it to her own morbid makeup look. She had chosen the very original route of Vegan Zombie due to the fact that she felt too guilty about dressing up as something too terrifying, but she had definitely gone all out with her makeup that evening. Her face was a mix of fake blood and torn latex skin to emulate the look of an undead creature. She had replicated the same look on JJ for the most part, but Hotch and Haley had ardently refused when she offered to put them through the same zombification process for their disgustingly adorable Jack and Rose costumes from Haley’s favorite move, Titanic. 

“Are you guys almost ready? Alex is gonna be back with the kid soon!” Derek shouts into the bathroom, swinging open the door without knocking. Her other brother is dressed in a simple black suit ensemble with a pair of thrifted knockoff Ray Bans situated on his face. She bursts out into an uncontrollable grin as soon as she sees him.

“Okay my chocolate thunder, I see you!” she cheers, marvelling at how dapper he looks in his costume. Derek and Rossi had chosen to be secret service agents, although Rossi continually insisted that he had the idea first. They both copped almost identical black suits and ties with matching sunglasses, and although Penelope would be the last to admit it out loud, David actually looked pretty good in his suit as well. However, she would keep that comment to herself for fear of stroking the older boy’s already massive ego.

“You guys are looking pretty creepy yourselves.” Derek chuckles, referencing their elaborate blood and gore. JJ merely beams back, but Penelope feels her heart skip slightly. Had she done too much?

“Is it too much? Do you think I should take some off?” She mumbles worriedly, taking a few hesitant glances in the bathroom mirror. “Is it gonna be too scary if somebody sees me on the street? Cause I don’t want any little kids to see me and start running away in fear and be traumatized for the rest of their life. Maybe I should just-” She’s rambling as she frantically inspects her face, but Derek cuts her off with a laugh.

“Baby girl, you’re fine,” he assures her, chuckling slightly at her antics. “You look just the right amount of scary,” The older boy informs her comfortingly and she begins to relax at the reassurance. “Now c’mon out of here, we gotta get ready for Spence.” He reminds them, striding out of the cramped bathroom. She follows with JJ in tow, flicking off the bathroom light as they leave the small room. 

“How close are they?” an anxious voice that is unmistakably Hotch’s questions as the group traipses into the living room where they’re all planning to hide out for Spencer’s inevitable arrival. She can’t control her expression of pure, unadulterated glee when she catches a glimpse of Hotch dressed in the makeshift Jack costume he and Haley had thrown together last minute. Her usually stoic oldest brother looks absolutely uncharacteristic in dark green slacks paired with a thrifted beige button down, completing the look with some vintage suspenders that Haley had procured. The girl that Penelope has eagerly adopted as part of their family stands close by, her wheat-golden hair pinned back into a simple updo with two pieces left out in front in order to frame her delicate face. She dons a soft pale blue dress of nightgown texture with a light pink ribbon tied loosely around her waist, and Penelope almost gapes at how gorgeous she looks. Hotch, however, paces nervously around the tiny living room, clearly preoccupied with everything going exactly perfectly. She watches as Haley steps forward and places a comforting hand on his upper bicep in order to still him.

“Aaron, it’ll be fine. Just relax.” She reassures him gently, her smile soft and warm enough that it could melt butter. To his credit, Hotch seems to relax considerably under her touch and Penelope quirks a smile at just how endearingly adorable the new couple is. Even though Haley had only been around for less than a month, Penelope felt as though she had acclimated into their group quite well. Not to mention the fact that she had given heaps of her old makeup to Penelope when the girl had mentioned once that she wished she had a more extensive makeup palette to match her exuberant outfits. So, yeah, it’s safe to say that she loves the girl almost as much as Hotch does.

“Yeah, Aaron. Just relax,” Rossi smirks, his tone a mocking replica of Haley’s soothing voice. Hotch glares at the shorter boy, his scowl deeper than Penelope’s ever seen it. “Alex just texted. She said she’d be back with the kid in five.” He explained, reading the brief message from his phone screen.

“Can she hurry it up? This thing is killing me! I feel like I’m sweating an ocean under here.” Emily groans from the corner of the room as she enters, her friend Mick trailing behind her. Penelope turns to face her oldest sister, frowning in confusion at her costume. The raven-haired girl is dressed in a heavy looking black robe and dense feather boa wrapped around her neck, causing her complexion to appear even paler in contrast to all the black. Mick stood close by, dressed smartly in a white button down and black slacks. The only thing compelling about his getup was that there was an uneven splotch of fake blood directly over where his heart was painted on the shirt. 

“And who are you supposed to be? Elvira mistress of the dark?” Rossi scoffs humorously as he scans her costume. She glares at him in response, wiping a bead of sweat from her brow.

“No, Italian mobster. I’m a wealthy heiress, clearly still in mourning.” She asserts, sneering at Rossi.

“And you are?” David adds, gesturing towards Mick.

“Husband who died of mysterious circumstances.” The other boy explains helpfully and Penelope nods silently in sudden understanding of the two friends’ costume choice. Suddenly, David’s phone gave a loud ping, the notification stirring them all into action.

“Okay, she’s pulling up now.” Rossi alerts them before silencing and pocketing his phone. Their entire group hurries to their pre-established hiding places across the main entrance to the house. Penelope and JJ duck together behind the wall that separated the kitchen and the living room, prepared to jump out on either side as soon as the appropriate time came. The two girls wait with bated breath as they hear the familiar sound of the front door being pushed open and Spencer’s small voice echoing against the linoleum tile.

“Thanks for the ride, Alex, but you didn’t need to walk me inside. I’m not gonna get mugged.” Spencer scoffs bluntly and Penelope has to work to hold in her laughter beside JJ as they listen to the boy walk a bit further into the house. A few exhilarating seconds pass by before the sound of the front door slamming shut came, signalling their cue to jump out from their respective hiding spaces across the layout.

“Surprise!” The group cheers in semi-unison, an excited hodgepodge of voices causing a cacophony of indistinguishable sound. She bursts out from behind the wall, surveying Spencer’s dropped jaw as a positive sign that their idea went over pretty successfully in the grand scheme of things. However, within what seemed like the shortest few seconds of her life, her youngest brother’s demeanor shifts from absolute shock to instant tears welling up in his eyes. His chin wobbles slightly as he regarded them all, doing nothing to quell the heated tears spilling from his hazel eyes and his quickly reddening face.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. What’s wrong? This is a good surprise, don’t cry, kid.” Derek immediately cajoles, stepping forward from his position behind the couch to approach the kid. Spencer reaches up with a trembling hand to try and wipe his face clear of any remnants of tears, but his body wracks as a sob envelopes him and Penelope suddenly doesn’t feel as sure that their idea went over that well.

“Spence, what’s wrong?” Hotch asked softly, approaching the youngest boy and crouching down before him. Alex and Derek both seemingly take the hint and take a few steps away from the near-hysterical kid, giving him some much needed space. 

“I- It’s so stupid,” He sobs into his hands, attempting to muffle the sound as best he can. Penelope feels her heart sink into the floor at the sound of his agony and wants nothing more than to rush over and wrap him in a tight embrace, but she hangs back with JJ, silently observing the scene. “I- I didn’t know that- that you, that-” He cries miserably and Hotch scoots forward more, placing a hand on the younger boy’s shoulder, giving an encouraging squeeze. “I thought you guys wanted me to grow up so you didn’t wanna hang out on my birthday this year.” The boy sobs, clearly overwhelmed by a wealth of unwarranted emotions. Penelope and JJ share a hesitant look, unsure of how to even remedy such an insane situation. What was going on?

“Buddy, what do you mean? That doesn’t make any sense.” Hotch questions softly, confusion evident in his tone as he rubs his hand up and down the length of Spencer’s shoulder. Spencer nods in agreement, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes as he responds.

“I know it doesn’t, but I thought about it anyway,” he cries, taking a few steadying breaths in order to get himself under some form of control. “I thought on Wednesday when we didn’t do anything together or even eat dinner that you guys were using that to tell me to grow up and so I didn’t want to annoy anyone and-” his breath hitches as he rambles on, but Hotch eventually cuts him off by pulling him into a tight embrace. Penelope bites her lower lip, suddenly understanding Spencer’s behavior for the last two days relatively well. Although how he reached such an inane conclusion was another story entirely. 

“Oh kid, you’re a mess,” Hotch chuckles softly, pulling the kid tight against him. “Nobody here is annoyed by you or is trying to send you some secret coded message through our actions,” the older boy reassures him gently and Spencer gives an almost imperceptible nod inside the embrace. “I think you’re even worse at communicating your feelings than me.” Hotch adds, attempting to inject some humor into the situation. Spencer scoffs lightly before pulling away, wiping his face frantically as the tears begin to subside.

“We all care about you, Spence. Nobody here is ever annoyed by you.” Alex soothes, taking a step closer to the kid as he begins to regain his composure. 

“Not even when you told me that red food dye comes from crushed up bug insides.” Emily pipes up from across the room, eliciting a round of light laughter from all of them. 

“Thank you guys, I-,” He inhales deeply, gradually backing himself away from the edge of crying. “You didn’t need to do all this. I really just wanted us all to eat dinner together.” He admitted a bit sheepishly, still clearly embarrassed by his emotional vulnerability only seconds prior.

“Well, this is better than dinner,” Hotch asserts with a rare ghost of a smile as he rises from his crouching position. “Go get your costume on, kid. It’s almost time for us to head out.” He informs him and Spencer glances up at the significantly taller boy, surveying his suspenders with mild intrigue.

“You mean...we’re all going this year?” He questions, seeking clarification. Penelope scoffs at the query. For a genius that kid could be incredibly dense sometimes, but they loved him anyway.

“Yeah kid, you think we’d all dress up like this if it wasn’t for you?” Derek chimed in, reaching out to ruffle the younger boy’s mop of brunette curls.

“Well, I still would.” Penelope inserts casually from across the room, grinning at her youngest brother.

“Yeah, we know, zombie queen.” Emily quips sarcastically. Penelope doesn’t hesitate to stick her tongue out at her older sister.

“C’mon kid, we’re wasting precious time.” Rossi reminds him impatiently and Spencer breaks out into an uncontrollable grin as he rushes to his room to retrieve the Albert Fish serial killer costume he had worked so diligently on all month. The pleasant atmosphere returned almost immediately as soon as Spencer began enlightening them all with fact after fact about the basis of his costume and the group hit the streets, eager to fill their empty pillowcases with free candy.

It didn’t take a genius to know that Spencer would be talking about this Halloween, (and Hotch’s suspenders) for the rest of his life.

xxx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! leave a comment down below if you enjoyed!


	19. don’t be alarmed if i fall head over feet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a new chapter! thanks to everybody who read and enjoyed the last chapter, i'm glad people like the story! please comment below if you want to see more/if you like what you read. thanks always to erin for motivating me to keep writing even when i hate myself. enjoy the chapter!
> 
> Disclaimer: aspects of this work bear similarities to the separate publication “Patron Saint of Lost Causes”. the author of this work attributes the content in this chapter to the correct source (@themetaphorgirl). Publication of this work is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not replace the intellectual property of the above source. This work is intended for personal, non-commercial use only and the author attributes subsequently reproduced or reconstructed concepts to the original source, all rights reserved.

“That’ll be $34.50, would you like your receipt today?”

The poorly ventilated air circulating throughout the antique shop was staler than week-old bread. She exhales a deep sigh as she rings up one of the few remaining customers in the store, definitely regretting her decision to pick up a shift the day after Halloween. The entire afternoon had been one the sparsest she’s ever seen in the small antique gallery and she had spent the majority of her shift either picking at her chipped black nail polish or pretending to keep busy by sweeping and re-sweeping the same patch of floor for the better part of an hour. 

It was times like these she especially missed having Elle around.

Not only was the girl her closest friend, but she was also an excellent source of entertainment on monotonous Sunday afternoons like these. Elle was always prepared to share some new piece of high school gossip surrounding the other kids in their group or waste their time by fooling around and trying on the ugliest articles of thrifted clothing she could find in the store. Because she owned a car she would always run out on their lunch break to grab them both fries and shakes from the fast food place down the street, insisting that she would never accept Emily’s offers to pay her back for the cheap food. As a one-woman operation she was forced to interact more with the customers rather than being able to split the duties evenly with another person, which was something she especially loathed. Most of all though, she just missed having a familiar face around. Mick would hop into the store every so often to keep her company for a few hours or so, but she had been severely reprimanded by her manager and the owner of the store when the woman had learned that Mick wasn’t actually a customer. Not wanting to risk losing the most laid-back job of all time, Emily had warned Mick to keep his visits to a minimum from that point on. 

In the month and a half since the abrupt dissolution of their two-year long friendship, Emily had been doing a lot of thinking. This was highly uncharacteristic of her (as pointed out so very kindly by Penelope one day when the girl had asked her what was wrong), but she had spent a record amount of time dwelling within her thoughts as she tried to somehow make sense of the information she was presented. It was all still extremely confusing for her, no matter which way she considered it. Every single time she thought of that shared moment in the bathroom with her former best friend, her stomach churned with a combination of pure anxiety and exhilaration. Part of her wanted nothing more than to lock up the memory with a key and suppress it until the day she died, but there was another part of her that spent hours envisioning those few seconds in perpetual replay. 

She was utterly terrified by the notion of what this meant for her or how to even properly assess how she felt, but she tried her best not to burden her friends and siblings with the more intense details of her thoughts. She didn’t let anybody in on the secret that she was now spending more time in her classes scrawling Elle’s name in a sloppy cursive in the margins of her notes than listening to the lectures. She didn’t let it show how whenever she caught a glimpse of the other girl in the hallways at school that she suddenly grew tense and couldn’t concentrate for the next hour or so. She didn’t reveal to anybody how she was currently running on less than two hours of sleep (despite the Halloween party ending well before midnight) because sometimes there were just nights where she couldn’t pull herself away from the anxiety that ran rampant in her mind and tore her usual self-assured demeanor to shreds. She was grappling frantically to hold onto her sense of self amidst one of the most confusing parts of her life, and she didn’t know how to stop herself from slipping away before it was too late. She just prayed that there was some sort of sign to tell her how to react or how to process her feelings before she combusted and couldn’t return to the life she was living before that Friday night in September. She just wished someone would walk through the front door and slap some sense into her for once so that she didn’t have to do it herself.

Which is why Emily nearly has a heart attack when, not ten minutes before the store is set to close, the bell that sits atop the main entrance clatters sharply and a too-familiar face steps inside to greet her. She refrains from pinching herself at the sight, although she’s not entirely sure if she’s seeing things or not. Everything becomes more grounded in reality when a hesitant voice cuts through the palpable tension that has settled into the atmosphere like a late fall dust.

“Hey.”

It takes a second, but she eventually shakes herself from the trance she’s suffocating herself within. Her head and vision begin to clear up as she processes that yes, this is really happening, and she has to respond rather than just standing there cemented to the hardwood flooring with a broom clenched in her right hand so tightly she fears it may break. 

“We’re closed.” She retorts concisely, teeth and fists clenched with a fierce intensity that externally reflects the slow-boiling anger rising in her chest at the unexpected sight of her ex-best friend standing sheepishly in the front doorway. She has to tear her furious gaze away from the other girl, not wanting to give Elle the satisfaction of seeing her so worked up. She has to push past her emotions.

“Technically, you’re not,” Elle points out with a timid smirk, her lips tightening into a fine line. “You’re not closed until you empty the till and lock up. I know how this place works too.” She scoffs dryly, clearly attempting to make a joke in order to ease the growing tension between them. Emily doesn’t spare her a polite smile, instead opting to glare at her as she picks up the dustpan she’s set on the floor and heading back to her position behind the main desk. Having a physical barrier between her and Elle is oddly comforting in a way, but maybe that’s just because she’s almost on the verge of slapping the other girl across the face. 

“Yeah, and technically you don’t work here anymore. Goodnight.” She snaps unkindly, the scowl positioned on her face harsh enough to rival even Hotch’s worst mood. Elle stiffens at the brash dismissal, but continues on her predetermined course, undeterred by Emily’s refusal to humor her.

“Don’t be like that,” The other girl sighs heavily, worrying her lower lip with her teeth. Her wide brown eyes are softened, focus flickering between Emily’s face and the freshly swept floor below. “I came here to talk to you.” She elaborated, as if that notion is supposed to magically solve all the issues present. Emily would be lying if she said she hadn’t envisioned this exact moment occurring in several different ways. Over the last few weeks she had run through imaginary arguments she would present in this scenario. She had fantasized about Elle approaching her at school and finally admitted that she wanted to be her friend once more, but there had been nothing but deafening silence for six long weeks. As much as she wanted to forgive and forget so they could just move on and set everything back to the way it was, she knew that there was no possibility of that happening. ‘Normal’ was no longer a viable option. The rift that had been created between them was too deep to cross with pithy phrases and pre-planned apologies about how they had both made mistakes in the situation. She knew that there would be an inevitable discussion about what had gone down, but she wasn’t emotionally prepared for that right now, nor would she ever be. Especially not ten minutes before she had to close up and head home for the day. 

“Okay, we’re talking. What do you wanna say?” She prompts curtly, not caring to smooth out the sharp edges in her tone. Her mother had once told her that her words could cut like a knife when she wanted them to. She figures that this is one of the times she wants them to.

“Jeez, what’s got you so pissed off?” Elle mutters, jovial demeanor fading as Emily busies herself with emptying out the register for the evening. Her hands falter as she fumbles with the stacks of tens and twenties, unable to face the other girl before she can take a steadying breath at the dense question.

“I don’t know, Elle, you tell me.” She snaps sarcastically, shoving the register’s contents and receipts into the safe they keep below the desk. When she emerges from closing the safe securely she does her best to avoid the looks Elle is shooting her way, clearly wounded by her standoffish position.

“Okay, I get that you’re mad because of me ignoring you but-” The other girl begins tentatively. It’s humorous, almost, how woefully unprepared her ex-friend was for the conversation to take such a sharp right turn and Emily is well-aware that Elle has only approached her because she was convinced that Emily would be so desperate to accept her with teary eyes and open arms, forgiving her instantly. Maybe a few weeks ago, she would have too. Emily isn’t entirely sure of where she stands exactly in the grand scheme of things. The compartmentalization of her feelings has closed her off from actually being in tune with her emotions all the time, and what initially seemed like a saving grace has actually proved to be a hindrance. 

“Wow, you hit the nail right on the head there.” She retorts harshly, her tone nearly venomous. Elle’s face falters and the girl furrows her perfectly plucked brows in an attempt to reassess their current situation. Emily actually feels a pang of sympathy for putting the poor girl through the wringer, but that momentary pity vanishes when Elle speaks up once more.

“Well you haven’t been a perfect saint either, y’know,” She counters, crossing her arms over her chest in a huff. “I’ve seen you drooling over Mick Rawson 24/7 just to make me jealous.” Elle accuses and Emily literally feels her jaw drop at the other girl’s absurd and completely incorrect assumptions. The slow-boiling anger in her chest suddenly bubbles over into a raging fire tearing through every inch of her very being. She seriously cannot believe that Elle just said that.

“Okay, first of all? Mick is my friend. My only friend who doesn’t ditch me to hang out with the bitchiest girls on the face of the planet,” She snaps, fully unhinged in her responses. There’s no holding back now, she’s going full Prentiss rage. “And believe it or not, my entire existence doesn’t revolve around trying to play petty childish games to make *you* jealous,” She almost gags as she the words tumble from her mouth in an unfiltered mess. If there wasn’t such an intense ringing in her ears she swears she could probably hear her heart pounding in her chest as she continues, suddenly feeling more emboldened than she ever has before. “Are you seriously so self-absorbed that you think I’d actually do that?” She adds, fiery gaze burning holes into Elle’s shamefaced expression. Infuriated with the state of this conversation, she starts to move out from behind the desk, but Elle immediately sidesteps her in order to prevent her from leaving. Emily has to physically restrain herself from decking the girl right then and there, knowing that would cause more problems than what it’s worth.

“Look, if I wanted someone to shout at me about how awful I am to them, I’d call my sister,” Elle chides, attempting to regain control of the cancerous dialogue she’s opened by showing up at the store. “I came here because I want to make amends with you.” She adds, desperation evident in her tone. Emily brushes a piece of her ebony hair from her face flippantly, maintaining her death glare all the while. She’s not intending to roll over anytime soon just so Elle can feel at peace with herself again. No matter how much she misses the other girl.

“And you’re doing a fantastic job of it.” She scoffs sardonically, referencing that the conversation is going over about as well as a lead balloon. Elle grimaces for a moment, but then her countenance morphs into something almost unheard of for the easygoing girl. Undeniable frustration.

“That’s the problem with you, Emily-” She begins, but Emily barely gives her a chance to get the first sentence out before she emits a humorless bark of laughter. There was no way she was going to listen to Elle stand before her and inform her of why she was in the wrong for everything yet again. She wasn’t going to back down and beg for forgiveness just because she wanted the girl near her again.

“Oh, here we go!” She rolls her eyes, only adding to Elle’s growing irritation with her. She knows she has a particularly annoying habit of setting people off in just the right ways to dramatically dramatize each and every situation, but she can’t exactly help her propensity for causing chaos and controversy. It’s honestly ingrained at this point.

“No, that’s exactly it,” Elle interjects, growing increasingly agitated by the second. “You always brush people away with these bitchy little sarcastic comments because we’re all *so* beneath you, right?” She questions rhetorically, her words biting with the unspoken truth. “Nobody on earth could ever measure up to the great Emily Prentiss and her impossible standards! You think everyone else is so boring or so lame that you never give anyone a second glance if you don’t like them,” She hisses, her own frustration spilling over in the form of wild, agitated gesticulations and shouted phrases. Emily has scarcely imagined her this infuriated before, let alone picturing her directing that anger towards Emily. “If you ever actually gave anyone a real chance then you’d see that Harper and Alexa aren’t as awful as you make them out to be.” Elle asserts, although that really doesn’t bode well with Emily. The mention of the two popular girls that her ex-best friend has ditched her for over the duration of the last six weeks was not anticipated, and their insertion into the argument serves little to easing her anger. 

“Oh yeah, I’m sure they’re just perfect fucking angels to you, right?” She counters, even the mention of the two girls leaving a rotten taste in her mouth. She honestly would have been more content with the rapid conclusion of their friendship if Elle had only chosen to associate with literally anybody else within the Madison Heights student body, she has a distinct feeling that she wouldn’t be as wounded. However, of course Elle had aligned herself with just about the worst people in the school’s population (save for Haley Brooks, who tends to spend more time with Hotch now anyway). She loathes that specific group of girls for so many reasons, but mostly for their weirdly oppressive high school hierarchy rules where they tend to believe that because they’re all rich, hot, and on the cheerleading squad that they’re somehow entitled to everyone’s unbridled love and admiration. To think of her best friend, former or not, surrounded by catty girls who only find enjoyment in tearing other people down, makes her feel uneasy. Especially considering the copious amounts of teasing her youngest brother has endured from that group since starting at Madison Heights. She had no respect for anybody in that group or who chooses to associate themselves with the group, and that includes Elle currently. 

“Y’know, you’re not that much better than the rest of us just because you think you are.” Elle snaps harshly. She stares down Emily with increasing intensity, making it abundantly clear that they’re engaged in a fight to the death cage match argument now. Great. Exactly how she wanted to spend her Sunday afternoon before closing up the miserable antique store.

“I don’t think I’m better than anyone!” She asserts vehemently, outraged at the myriad of false accusations of superiority complexes Elle seems to be pulling out of nowhere. The hypocrisy of it all is almost completely laughable. If Emily truly believed that she was so above everyone else, then why had Elle willingly associated with her for so long? Despite the obvious tactics of deflection by introducing a new, irrelevant topic, Emily persists with the argument. “If I did then I’d probably be, I dunno, following Alexa Lisbon around like a shadow?” She retorts, referencing Elle’s newfound love for worshipping the ground Alexa walks on. What hurts the most of it all is picturing Alexa and Elle sharing all the moments that she and Elle once had together. Not to mention the fact that she would be legitimately shocked if Elle hadn’t given into the pressure and gossipped about Emily behind her back just as all the rest of the popular kids were known to do. It had stung at first, but now that pain and insecurity was being channeled into the fire that raged in her mind as she stared down her ex-best friend. 

“Great, just turn it back to me. Just like you always do.” Elle sighed impatiently and Emily refrains from laughing in her face. This conversation is going nowhere fast.

“Not to bring logic into all of this, but you’re literally the only reason this fight is still happening!” She nearly shouted, surprising even herself by how quickly she accelerated. “I was ready to apologize to you at the game in September but you just couldn't *possibly* miss your little date with Haley Brooks,” She reminds the girl impudently, taking some strange delight as Elle’s face falters at the mention of Haley’s name. “By the way, she’s dating Hotch now. Do you think she’s doing that to make you jealous?” She huffs in mock-concern, sarcastically pointing out the absurdity of Elle’s earlier statement regarding her and Mick’s friendship. The brown eyes that once only showed kindness and adoration for Emily are suddenly trained on her with a searing anger unmatched by any other. 

“I’m sorry that it never occurred to you in the last month and a half that I was hurting too,” She hisses fiercely, words whipping out to stun Emily like the venomous bite of a snake. She’s furious now, her tone bordering dangerously into the kind of suffocating rage that encompasses a person when they’re too emotional to comprehend anything aside from the bitterness that clouds their vision with a blinding red light. “I know I put you through a lot but you weren’t the only one who lost your best friend that night. I couldn’t just move on and pretend like everything could go back to normal after that.” She insists. Elle doesn’t grow over-emotional easily. As long as Emily has known her, she’s seen very few outbursts from the girl due to her naturally easy-going nature and light-heartedness. But, now they’re both balancing precariously on the edge of a 50-foot drop into a territory that neither of them has any particular desire to enter. The question is merely a matter of who will take the dive first and inevitably unravel the complex emotions both girls have been stifling for nearly six weeks now. 

“Why? Because you were ‘hurting’ or because you were having too much fun with your little popular group to want to start hanging out with me again?” She accuses, crossing her arms over her chest with a huff. Elle’s tone is deadly serious when she speaks again, her intensity oddly reminiscent of Hotch when he’s lecturing one of them for acting recklessly.

“Don’t sit here and try to pretend like you know what I went through.” She demands, maintaining her harsh eye contact with unwavering strength. 

“All I’m saying is that I tried to apologize to you!” Emily shouts exasperatedly for what feels like the 900th time at this point. No matter what she says, Elle won’t back down until she feels as though she’s won-- Emily should probably know this by now, but that doesn’t throw her off. “I tried to make things right and clear everything up but you wouldn’t even listen to me! You’re just playing the victim as usual because *you* couldn’t possibly be in the wrong, right?” She confesses, realizing just how long she’s been waiting to dish it out to the girl who’s kept her in a state of perpetual self-hatred and doubt for the last month and a half. No, maybe she doesn’t know exactly what Elle went through, but she knows what *she* went through and it pisses her off to have her pain undermined by flippant reassurances or pithy apologies meant to placate her. “It’s always somebody else’s fault, but no, Elle could *never* be the one to screw something up,” She continues, hating how therapeutic it feels so finally speak aloud the words she’s imagined saying for so long now. “You just left me under those stupid fucking bleachers like I hadn’t even said anything because you couldn’t stop being a stubborn bitch for two seconds!” her voice feels uncharacteristically hoarse before she realizes it’s because she’s been yelling her entire passionate response. Elle stands before her, silence-stricken and paler than she’s ever seen her. Emily tries her best to ignore the tears swimming in her own vision and blurring the image of Elle before she continues. “Admit it, you didn’t want to accept my apology because you were fine with replacing me.” She scoffs. Elle’s silence is deafening. Emily inhales shakily, doing her best to blink away the tears lingering in her dark gaze before she begins to turn away, idle hands eagerly seeking out some sort of task to distract herself with. It’s only when Elle speaks once more does she grow startled at the girl’s pallid countenance, her shoulders shaking with a fierce intensity.

“Because I was terrified!” She exclaims, her voice so sharp and cutting that Emily feels as though she’s just been stabbed in the gut and deflated like a balloon. Seeing Elle so miserable diminishes her own anger significantly, merely making her feel guilty. “I was fucking terrified! I didn’t know what you were about to say or whether or not you wanted to stop being my friend because of what I did, so I pushed you away,” she admits ardently, tears already streaming down her face. It pains Emily to see her in so much distress, but she allows the girl to continue. “As soon as I kissed you and I saw that look on your face I knew that you hated me for it, and I’m sorry, but I couldn’t just keep that locked up forever,” Emily freezes at the mention of their stolen moment in the bathroom from what feels like eons ago. It’s the first time they’ve talked openly about the situation, and suddenly her chest constricts so tightly that she’s not entirely sure if she’s still breathing or not. “You don’t have any idea how it feels to be around you everyday and try to pretend like everything’s alright and that I’m not constantly thinking about you! For the last two years that’s all it’s fucking been and you’ve never even stopped to noice! How do you think it feels to go around like everything in life is just perfect but you know that if you actually told people who you are, they’d hate you for it?” Elle basically sobs, her passion overtaking her usual need for reason. Emily can’t move as the depth of the confession crashes over her like a wave breaking upon the shore. Although she knows what she’s hearing, she can’t process anything aside from the incessant cold in her body that freezes every single cell. She can’t move, she can’t breathe, she can’t even think. All she knows is that Elle has basically just admitted the biggest secret of her life as she stands bawling her eyes out in the antique shop. 

“I-I couldn’t just be around you after that. I couldn’t-- shit-- I couldn’t put things back to normal because they’ve *never* been normal,” Elle continues ardently, attempting in vain to choke back her never ending waterfall of tears. “I’m not like you, I can’t just neatly pack away my feelings because I suddenly decide I don’t need to feel them anymore,” She points out as another sob wracks her shoulders and Emily feels a stab of guilt at the accusation, but knows she’s entirely accurate. “I can’t imagine my life without you, Em, but I also can’t imagine you wanting to be around me after learning who I am. I-I’m sorry if you’re grossed out by this, but I can’t help it,” She cries, her sobs petering off into hiccuping cries, the tears mixing with her mascara and leaving dark streaks down her cheeks from the smeared makeup. Emily tries not to think about how tragically beautiful she looks, even while crying. “Trust me, I hate myself for it too.” Elle whispers in finality, wrapping her arms around herself in a self-embrace.

Emily can’t move. The confession weighs on her like a hundred-pound force that she can’t move away from. Her ex-friend, her best friend, and arguably the first person she’s ever felt romantically about stands before her in a crushing self-hug, attempting to ease herself away from the brink of her full-scale emotional meltdown in the antique store where they both once shared sacred afternoons filled with laughter and inside jokes. The girl she shared her first kiss with wipes the tears away from her lightly freckled cheeks with a trembling hand, clearly exhausted from the effort of confessing every hidden emotion she’s ever repressed in order to appear ‘normal’ to the rest of the world. Emily knows better than anyone else how that feels. To be so isolated from oneself to feel as though there’s absolutely no way to be accepted or loved by anyone else on the planet. These last six weeks have been an agonizing and lonely experience for her, she never even considered the toll they had taken on Elle. The gravity of her statement settles in after a prolonged moment and slowly, Emily begins to unfreeze. She feels not only the constricting weight melt away, but the rest of the world as well as she moves forward from behind the desk. Her body moves on its own volition as she gently brings her hands up to cup Elle’s tear-stained and mascara smeared cheeks, holding each side of her face as if she were handling some priceless artifact. In that moment, neither of them are what they claim to be. They are merely entities in a limitless universe, uncontained and unconstricted by the stringent rules they abide by in life. She gingerly brushes a strand of hair from the delicate face in her hands, uncaring of what repercussions could stem from doing so. She doesn’t care anymore, and belatedly, she realizes that she never did.

She presses herself and her lips up against Elle’s trembling form. It’s so unlike but so similar to that first time in the bathroom, but she doesn’t consider much else as she aligns her body and soul with the girl she’s called her best friend for two long years. The girl that just tearfully shouted that she’s been living in denial for that entire time. The girl that she met on the first day of freshman year, freshly new to the school and terrified of all that she was being exposed to. The girl that offered her a ballpoint pen for their science class with a charming smile and the softest doe eyes she’s ever seen. The girl that invited her out to movies and coffee after school because nobody else would talk to her aside from her foster brother. The girl that established herself as a constant presence in her life, but was so careful not to let anybody see her own pain and resentment that she had harbored for so long. The girl that suffered because she didn’t want anybody else to. 

Emily holds her close. She decides that she never wants to let her go again.

The world finally falls back into place after an indeterminate amount of time. She feels Elle quirk a sad smile underneath her lips, revelling in the closeness they share. She tries not to let her disappointment show when Elle finally begins to pull back, unwrapping her arms from around herself. She’s still shaking like an unsteady fawn, but Emily grabs one of her hands for stability. She returns the small smile, regarding her best friend with a softness she reserves only for her.

“You’re so stupid.” She breathes, almost inaudibly. Her heart is racing right out of her chest, but somehow it feels right. Elle chokes out a little laugh at the statement, squeezing Emily’s hand tight in her own. The pressure does wonders to ground her.

“I know.” The girl sighs, seemingly unable to wipe the smile off of her face despite the tears just seconds before. She looks absolutely drained, so Emily speaks quickly in an attempt to get her own feelings out in the open.

“I could never hate you,” She reveals, although that probably goes without saying at this point. However, she knows that Elle needs to hear it coming from her. “I would never think you were awful for being who you are,” She adds, referencing Elle’s previously expressed insecurities. The slightly shorter girl nods, dark hair bobbing as she does so. “And you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do this again.” She continues, moving in to envelop Elle in a warm embrace. The other girl immediately sinks into her arms, hugging her back without hesitation. In a way, it feels as though the gaping hole in her stomach that appeared when Elle first left has been inexplicably healed. She feels whole again and breathing suddenly comes easier than it has in the last month and a half.

“Not as long as I have, idiot.” Elle teases lightly and Emily scoffs. That much is true.

“No, probably not.” She relents with a tiny laugh. They remain blissfully undisturbed in each other’s arms for another few moments before Elle releases herself from the hold, pulling back with a slight sniffle. Her eyes are puffy and red from the amount of crying she’s just done, but Emily has never seen her more beautiful and glowing than this moment. Even with the mascara stains.

“Are you mad at me?” The girl ventures warily, her voice still hesitant and unsure about the waters they’ve crossed over into. It’s almost as if they’ve taken each other’s hands and swam out past the isolated area they’ve spent their whole lives in. They’ve been forced into the unexplored, dangerous, and unforgiven waters of the raging ocean, but Emily doesn’t feel afraid. She’s convinced that she can face anything with Elle’s hand in hers. Everything is unknown, but at the same exact time, it all makes perfect sense.

“Only if you keep asking dumb questions like that.” Emily retorts sarcastically and Elle scoffs lightly. Having finally composed herself to an acceptable degree, she exhales shakily, but still clings tight to Emily’s hand. Emily notices that the sun has sunk almost entirely behind the horizon, only a few glimmers of the late fall sun streaming into the shop’s windows and illuminating the enchanting countenance of her best friend. She never wants to leave this antique shop again, and if she had the option, she would spend the rest of her life here with Elle in order to avoid the rest of the world and its prying, judgmental gazes. They’re safe here with each other, that much is true.

“Jesus, we’re really a mess, huh?” Elle questions and Emily has to agree. The last few minutes of her life have easily been the most confounding of all time. 

“Yeah, but it’s better than being a separate mess,” She informs the girl, squeezing her hand tightly. She pauses before continuing, wondering if her words made any sense at all. “A mess separately?” She asks, unsure if that sounds any better. “Whatever. You know what I mean.” She laughs with a shrug and Elle merely shakes her head affectionately at her actions. Her wide brown eyes are fixated on Emily in an unbroken focus that would usually make her uncomfortable, but with Elle it just feels right. She doesn’t pull away or break eye contact to avoid being read like an open book, simply because she wants Elle to see her in an honest light. She wants to exist only within her gaze, finally able to feel comfortable in her own skin with the truth out in the open.

“I missed you, Em.” Elle admits softly, her voice barely above a timid whisper. Emily doesn’t care, she can hear her perfectly in their close proximity.

“I missed you too.” She replies, finding humor in the fact that such a simple phrase can hold such depth. But it’s okay. They don’t need to say anything else to understand each other, they already accept the unspoken bond perfectly. There’s nothing else to say. In that moment, it’s only them getting irreversibly lost in each other’s gazes until one of them moves forward once more to complete the puzzle.

Perfection. There’s no other way to describe it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you liked this one! more coming soon! please leave a comment if you enjoyed, i love to hear from you!!


	20. they’re not my home, not anymore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took so long!! im just so quirky i have to write 19 chapters in a short amount of time and then torture myself by writing one chapter for a week. ANYWAY this chapter is funky and fresh so i hope you... enjoy? lmk what you think!! I love to hear from all of you and what u think of the chapters/story itself. the plot is finally picking up so we've got some important introductory scenes to larger events in this chapter! i actually had one more scene in mind but it got too long to continue. ANYWAY hope yall enjoy please leave a comment if you do! special shoutout and dedication to erin and kk and noelle for inspiring and encouraging me even when i am too dumb to keep writing words.
> 
> Disclaimer: aspects of this work bear similarities to the separate publication “Patron Saint of Lost Causes”. the author of this work attributes the content in this chapter to the correct source (@themetaphorgirl). Publication of this work is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not replace the intellectual property of the above source. This work is intended for personal, non-commercial use only and the author attributes subsequently reproduced or reconstructed concepts to the original source, all rights reserved.

“Hey Spence, oh my gosh! How are you!”

The sudden call immediately springs her from her trigonometry induced trance, the piercing sounds of a girl’s voice permeating the subtle atmosphere found in the school’s library. At the sound of her younger friend’s name being called, her eyes dart up from the page they were glazing over. A girl’s voice and the familiar nickname ‘Spence’ would usually indicate one of his older sisters referring to him and even though Alex hasn’t hung around them for too long, she knows by now that Emily or Penelope don’t coin such an aggravating tone of voice. 

One glance over towards the source and her suspicions are unfortunately confirmed.

Sitting adjacent to her, Spencer seems just as startled by the sudden interaction. The younger boy had been eerily silent the entire afternoon which was usually unlike him, but Alex had merely dismissed it as Monday fatigue. He had chattered excitedly for about all of ten minutes, regaling the events of his birthday party that past Saturday evening (despite the fact that she already knew them considering she was there the whole time), but the two had dropped into companionable silence as they worked alongside each other. 

Until the arrival of the two girls that Alex wasn’t exactly enthused to see.

“I-I’m good.” Spencer stammers out as Alexa Lisbon and Harper Hillman strut up to their shared table. Alex hasn’t attended Madison Heights for very long, but at this point she knows who to avoid and who to trust. She doesn’t exactly consider the girls who constantly hang around the football players that shoved Spencer into a supply closet a solid friend choice for that matter. Her eyes narrow dubiously as Alexa and Harper don the fakest smiles known to man, their expressions just dripping with saccharine disingenuousness. She spares a glance at her younger friend— who she’s grown rather protective of in the last few weeks— and notices that he seems absolutely entranced by the fact that easily the prettiest girl in the school is talking to him. His mouth is slightly agape, but Alex feels her lips twist into a thin line. Something’s off with this, she can just feel it.

“You realize this is a library, right?” She scoffs before she can restrain her thoughts, surprising even herself with the boldness of her unfiltered response. Alexa and Harper both turn to her immediately, a twin look of disgust painted on their faces. “It’s supposed to be quiet, that’s like, the whole thing.” She mutters with a patented eye roll in their direction. The popular girls seem utterly unamused by her snippy comment and Alexa shoots her a relatively menacing glare before focusing her eagle-eyed gaze back onto a purely unassuming Spencer. Alex feels her stomach twist into an irreversible knot at the sight. She really doesn’t like the uneasy feeling settling in as she examines the exchange between the girls and Spencer.

“Yeah, okay,” Harper dismisses Alex’s previous comment with a look that could rival Medusa’s. “Sooo Spencer, what are you doing here?” She continues, feigning interest as she leans forward. Alex unconsciously feels her fists clench just a bit tighter underneath the table, witnessing the eleven-year-old’s face go slightly red at the close proximity with the older girl. 

Not only is it disconcerting in Alex’s eyes that he clearly can’t recognize their underlying motives, but it merely serves as a painful reminder of how young the kid really is. She knows he’s tough because of the teasing endured over a period of years and his shifty background, but she can’t help but feel partly responsible for taking care of him and shielding him from the dangers of their world. Perhaps it’s the fact that Scott is only a year or so younger than Spencer or the sheer surge of protectiveness she experiences whenever she pictures the afternoon she found Spencer locked in that supply closet, but she’s accepted her role as his honorary fourth older sister in stride. So, it doesn’t take much to set her on edge when she sees someone intentionally being rude to him in the halls, especially considering the fact that the older kids only tease him for his remarkable intelligence. She doesn’t understand how intense jealousy could translate into assaulting an eleven-year-old kid everyday, but she’s taken it upon herself to assist Hotch, Emily, Derek, and Penelope in watching out for the kid when he can’t do it himself. Of course, their endeavors are often done in a subtle manner. If there’s one thing she’s learned about Spencer in the last month or so, it’s that he doesn’t accept help readily. He’s more prone to shoulder any preconceived burdens himself until he inevitably cracks from the immense pressure. So, in a way, it’s her job to mitigate any risk of that happening when Hotch isn’t around to.

Like right now, for instance.

“Oh, um, y’know. Just studying.” The kid manages to cough out, purposefully avoiding eye contact as his blush grows. In any other case, Alex would even consider the scenario kind of earnestly adorable. It’s safe to assume that Spencer has never had much in the way of crushes considering his social hindrances and awkward demeanor, and if the girls in question were closer to his age and not fire-breathing demon bitches from hell, she would even encourage him to ask one of them out. Of course, that’s not the case and unfortunately, Spencer is reasonably overwhelmed with his too-obvious crush on Alexa to notice that she may not be all that she presents herself as.

“Oh my gosh, Alexa! Spencer could totally tutor you in chem!” Harper suddenly squeals, her tone high enough to only be discernible by canines. Alex resists the urge to slap the cheerleader’s hand off of Spencer’s skinny shoulder. “Isn’t that right, Spence?” Harper coos, her pale pink acrylic nails dangling on his shoulder flirtatiously. Alex nearly vomits at the sight.

“And you could, like, totally leave him alone.” Alex snaps, her tone nothing short of an unabashed mockery of Harper’s. Spencer remains infuriatingly oblivious as Alexa shoots her a fiery glare, her lips curled into a sneer. It’s ironic, in a way, how the phrase ‘two-faced’ takes on a literal meaning in the form of Alexa Lisbon; but of course, Spencer is in way too deep to notice anything beyond her silky blonde hair tied into a signature high ponytail or the way the scent of her perfume lingers in the air that afternoon, 

“You wouldn’t mind tutoring me, right Spence?” Alexa confirms, her voice as melodic as a siren leading a sailor to his death. Alex figures, in a way, that’s all she truly is.

“Uh, well yeah, I mean-- if the situation arose where you needed some, uh, help--” Spencer manages to stammer out despite his obvious anxiety. Alex feels a pang of sympathy for the kid as she watches him flounder in the unfamiliar social situation. She knows that he’s too smart not to recognize the angle that the older girls are using on him, but she doesn’t trust his heart to tell his brain that. She’s had a few obsessive crushes in her sixteen years so she can certainly relate to the extreme levels of apprehension and longing to be accepted, but it still makes her head spin at how fast Spencer can just throw his maturity and self-assuredness out the window as soon as he’s approached by two beautiful girls. Although, she should have really seen this coming. There wasn’t a soul in attendance at Madison Heights that wasn’t absolutely head over heels for either Alexa or Harper. They were the perfect archetype of the bitchy popular girls that every girl wanted to be and every guy wanted to be with. She really shouldn’t have expected Spencer, who was only just discovering that there was a world beyond the safety of his books, to think any differently. 

“Great!” Alexa giggles, tossing her blonde ponytail over her shoulder as she stands up from the table she’s been leaning against. “We’ll set something up for next week for * _ sure _ *.” She all but threatens, motioning for Harper to move back. “Bye, Spencer.” The girl finally concludes flirtatiously as she brushes one of her hands against Spencer’s shoulder in passing. Alex watches with a glare permanently fixed on her countenance, only able to relax her tightly clenched fists once Alexa and Harper turn a corner and make their way out of the library, giggling in whispered voices to each other like they’ve just heard the funniest joke on earth. The fire boiling in her chest doesn’t ease even when she turns back to face Spencer, noticing that the boy is basically still entranced by their lingering presence, his gaze cloudy and unfocused. 

“Whoa,” He exhales softly, his eyes wide with a combination of built-up anxiety and exhilaration. He remains stock-still in his seat, essentially paralyzed by the events that had just transpired at their library table. Alex regards the boy across from  her with a wary look, unsure of how she’s even supposed to respond. But, Spencer remains absolutely oblivious to the concern evident in her expression, instead choosing to fixate softly on the shoulder that Alexa and Harper had both touched. “Did that really just happen?” He sighs in utter disbelief, his words barely audible. She has to physically restrain herself from rolling her eyes.

“Are you...you can’t seriously be--?” She groans, furrowing her brow in unmitigated confusion. She really isn’t equipped to handle a situation like this and she silently wishes either Hotch or Emily were around to knock some sense into the younger boy. Scott is probably too young to be asking her for romantic advice (she doubts he would anyway) and it’s not exactly like she has a wealth of experiences to expel knowledge from. Besides, she’s more shocked at Spencer’s complete cognitive denial of the situation rather than expounding upon how to speak to girls. “Spencer, did you...actually believe what they were saying?” She questions awkwardly, but as soon as the words leave her mouth she regrets them. In her defense, the rage from having to witness Alexa and Harper absolutely manipulating the poor kid is still messing with her mental filter, but the words come out harsher than she intends them. Spencer seems to notice this break in her usual personality and he’s pulled from his internal reverie as he processes her query.

“I-- what?” He mutters, blinking a few times as if to clear his head. Alex heaves a sigh, already knowing she’s going to regret where this conversation is heading. 

“Spence, I really don’t want to sound rude, but...Alexa and Harper weren’t being genuine with you,’ she prefaces hesitantly, unsure of exactly how to phrase her explanation. She almost scoffs at the sheer irony of being obsessed with literature but unable to form a coherent sentence to break bad news to somebody. “They only said all that stuff about tutoring to…” Her voice tapers off with an unspoken uncertainty. She really, really, really doesn’t want to be put in this position right now, but she can’t deny the protective urges she feels for her younger friend. She knows he has a whole army of older siblings to watch out for him, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t need an extra set of eyes sometimes. With the amount he gets picked on from the older kids at their school, she figures it’s slightly warranted as well. However, Spencer doesn’t seem to agree with the sentiment and he catches onto the hidden meaning of her words quicker than she would’ve liked him to.

“To what?” He challenges testily and Alex squeezes her eyes shut briefly to block out the sudden harshness of the library’s overhead fluorescent beams. It’s not like she wants to make the kid feel bad for not picking up on certain social cues she may find obvious, that’s really the least of her intentions. She just wants Spencer to see how poorly Alexa and Harper treat people, especially eleven-year-old sophomores that aren’t exactly at the top of the school’s social hierarchy in the first place. However, her good intentions seems to have just backfired in an unsatisfactory explosion.

“Spence…” She sighs, her tone apologetic. Before she can continue and hopefully make amends with the kid, he cuts her off with a fierce determination she’s never seen in his eyes before.

“No, say it,” he demands harshly, eyes narrowing behind the thick frames of his wire-rim glasses. She’s never imagined him growing this furious before and she feels a pang of guilt in her chest at the reminder that she’s the one who forced him to this point. “I wanna hear what you think two marginally attractive teenage girls were possibly thinking talking to the school’s resident *freak*.” He all but snarls, leaning forward in his seat to glare at her over the table. She swallows dryly, rather upset that their conversation has taken such a sharp right turn into a realm she never pictured crossing. 

“Look, I didn’t mean--” She tries to backtrack but he barely lets her get a word in edgewise. 

“No, Alex, maybe you didn’t. But is it so hard to possibly conceive that anybody outside of you would ever want to treat me like a normal human being?” He counters petulantly, balling his significantly smaller hands up into tense fists. She bites back a response, feeling the repercussions of her earlier words in full force as she sees the pain scrawled across Spencer’s expression. “Is that such a crazy concept that I have to constantly analyze everybody’s actions just in case they’re doing it to mock me?” He asks rhetorically, his voice rising as his emotions begin to spiral out of control. She tries not to look directly into those wide brown eyes, knowing that if she does she’d see the glimmers of betrayed tears on the surface. “I know I get picked on a lot for just being me, but I like who I am. Why is it so hard to believe that somebody else could too?” He sighs in defeat, slumping back into his chair as he stares almost numbly at the patterned carpet below. Alex chews the inside of her cheek nervously, really unsure of how to remedy such a tense situation. 

She knows how sensitive the kid is when it comes to being ostracized from the rest of the student body at Madison Heights. His intelligence is undoubtedly a gift, but certainly adds to his multiple insecurities, especially when the only time any other students comment on it is to either take advantage of him in class or to mock him as if he couldn’t hear them. He’s expressed to her in moments of brief vulnerability how he doesn’t feel as though he fits in with anybody outside of her and his siblings. Alex knows how the isolation can sting and settle into a dull reminder of loneliness, she’s been in that exact position every single time that her and her brothers have been uprooted due to her father’s job. But, really, she didn’t intend to bring up that pain by attempting to protect him from the types of girls like Alexa Lisbon, who probably want nothing more than to tear him to shreds in their inner circles for a quick laugh. She was just trying to look out for him.

“I know, Spencer, I know,” She murmurs, hanging her head slightly. What she wouldn’t give to just go back in time by a few seconds and take her words back before they left her mouth. “I don’t think that people only talk to you to make fun of you, but Alexa and Harper are different,” She reasons, hoping that something in her words will get through to the younger boy. “They’re…” She trails off once more, attempting to rack her brain for the right words this time so as to not unintentionally cause any further controversy. However, Spencer cuts her off with an indignant scoff before she can even finish.    
  


“Normal,” He finishes for her, crossing his skinny arms over his chest. “Just like you. Just like Emily. Just like Hotch or anybody else,” he points out discontentedly, his tone blunt and abrasive. Inwardly, she wonders how long he’s been mulling over this topic internally and degrading himself for every seemingly insignificant encounter that further proves his theories about being a ‘freak’. “So that’s why they wouldn’t waste their precious time speaking to me unless they had some ulterior motive, right? Because I’m not like them and I’ll never be like them.” He asserts and Alex doesn’t have to strain to hear that he’s choking back a growing lump in his throat, the tears that shine in his eyes threatening to spill over any second. Her heart twists as she takes in his pained expression, truly detesting that they’ve ended up fighting over Alexa and Harper in the first place. She should’ve just decked the girls when she had the chance.

“Spencer, you know that’s not what I meant,” She finally sighs, wary of getting interrupted with fervent passion once more. As soon as it’s clear that the fight is beginning to fade from his body, she continues with her gentle explanation. “I’m just looking out for you because I care about you. You’re my friend, you know that.” She defends, trying to put as much emphasis into her actual reasoning as possible so that he doesn’t misinterpret anything she says. His expression seems to soften, but his eyes still hold an irreversible sadness in them that nearly rips Alex’s heart in two at the sight. 

“You’re my friend too, Alex, but I don’t need to be protected. I just-” He cuts himself off with a small, strangled noise that’s indicative of his growing difficulty to hold back tears. “I just want to be treated like everyone else. I can be normal too,” He admits, his voice barely rising above a tentative whisper. She tries to reach out across the table to take his hand in hers, but he pulls back at the unwarranted contact, merely shaking his head softly. She can’t seem to force any words out as she witnesses him hurriedly stuff his homework into his tattered backpack and push back his chair, the legs scraping harshly against the carpeted floor. She wants to let her apologies tumble from her lips and assure him that he’s not a freak or any of the other harsh insults hurled at him in the hallways every single day, but she can’t. She knows that he needs his space in order to come to terms with what just happened, and the least she can do is give him that. Deep down, she’s convinced that everything will be fine come tomorrow morning when she sees him at school, but that doesn’t do much to ease her guilt in that moment as he wraps his tiny cardigan tightly around his frame, keeping a stubborn eye contact with the carpet. “I-I’ll see you tomorrow, Alex. Bye.” He mumbles dejectedly and before she can blink, he’s shrugging his backpack over his scrawny shoulders and shuffling away. 

She sits there for a moment before coming to terms with the events that just transpired, the cool breeze from the library’s air conditioning adding to the goosebumps covering her bare arms. She feels almost hollow inside, similar to how she reacted whenever she used to fight with her mother over seemingly trivial occurrences. She really doesn’t know how to process what just happened, but she’s relatively sure of one thing amidst all the tension still hanging in the air and doing its best to suffocate her.

Although she knows that the kid may despise her for it in the end, she knows she’s got to tell Hotch about Alexa and Harper. Something’s not right, and even if Spencer refuses to see that, she can still sense the imbalance in their motives. She just doesn’t want to see him hurt because of his stubborn pride. He can claim that he doesn’t want her protection as much as possible, but that won’t ever stop her from worrying over the kid like he’s her own little brother. Besides, when it comes to Spencer, sometimes it’s better to be safe than sorry. She can deal with the resentment now if it means that he doesn’t fall victim later. It’s a small price to pay for his well being.

She just hopes that he sees it the same way.

xxx 

It doesn’t get any easier,

Despite everyone’s reassurances that it will in due time, it doesn’t ease up. They all tell him to be quiet, be patient, be grateful. 

“You’re only sophomore and a starter on the football team.”

“These are the best years of your life, don’t waste them complaining over nothing.”

“You’ve got it so easy. You don’t even have to try, it just comes easy to you.”

There’s something so peaceful about hiding behind the admirations and words borne of slight envy from his peers and teammates. He can accept their praise at face value and let them believe that he isn’t suffering as much as he actually is. It comes as easy to him as being on the field and passing plays does, right? He can give a falsely reassuring smile and move on in the conversation, ignoring the twitching of his hands or the way his knee begins to not-so-subtly bounce at any mention of Coach Buford. If he drowns out the anxious thrumming of his heart in his chest, then it’s not really happening.

In a twisted way, that’s almost become his mantra for life over the course of the last few months. If he doesn’t acknowledge it, it’s just not happening. He doesn’t have to deal with it outside of the confines of that awful locker room shower where he pitifully vomits up anything left in his digestive system every other afternoon. He doesn’t have to remember the feeling of rough, calloused hands on his bare shoulder if he just closes his eyes and breathes through the panic. He once read somewhere that dissociating yourself from a situation makes it easier to manage the pain you have to endure. He knows that his coping mechanisms, methods of secrecy, and general denying of a precarious situation are the furthest thing from healthy possible. But he can’t fathom living in a world where Hotch or Spencer or Penelope know what he’s been hiding for so long. He can’t imagine waking up and facing them with that exposing piteous look in their eyes everyday for the rest of his life, filling in the blanks that he doesn’t reveal to them in the morbid details of the truth that burdens him.

Whenever it happens and the dank scent of the locker room invades his senses, causing his heart to involuntarily race a mile a minute while his knees buckle below him, he thinks of his Dad. Fucked up as that may be, he remembers his father reading to him before bed each night. He squeezes his eyes shut as tight as humanly possible and remembers the sound of his Dad’s voice, soothing and low tones pulling him back from the edge of a panic attack.

_ *“Are you protected by G-d like they were?”* _

_ *”Come on now, of course I am. Everyone is.”* _

Derek isn’t sure what to make of that anymore. He isn’t sure what he should make of anything. Time seems to pass in an indistinguishable blur, his days becoming absolutely inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. It’s always the same monotonous, mind-dulling routine. Get up, school, practice, locker room, home. Over and over again, interspersed with daily reminders of the feeling of wanting to peel his own skin off and hide away from the unassuming glances and cheerful smiles of his classmates. What he wouldn’t give to just be another face in the crowd instead of Madison Heights’ star quarterback. What he wouldn’t give to disappear into the throng of students and just be completely average. What he wouldn’t give to have never met Carl Buford.

He’s thought about ending it a few times. Finally pulling the plug and coming clean to Hotch, to the cops, to whoever will listen. But the shame built up over a period of two and a half months now is too great to ignore. What if they dismiss him out of hand, calling his claims ridiculous and unfounded? What if they tell him he’s making shit up for attention and he not only ruins his chances of ever playing football again, but his chances of getting out of Lake Ridge? What if he fails and the world scorns him with disgust, glaring at him like he’s nothing more than scum on the bottom of their shoes?

But his rationale, fucked up as it may be, remains rooted firmly in place. The fact of the matter is he’s not a genius like Spencer or Penelope or Hotch; he makes average grades but that’s only because Hotch would kill him if he didn’t. He doesn’t have JJ’s determination or Emily’s wit, all he has is his skill on the field and his ability to endure. So, he continues to tough it out. Not only for himself, but for his family as well. He can survive through the afternoons in that awful locker room, but he can’t live in a world where his siblings know the truth.

Sometimes, late at night, when the world is embraced by an obsidian sky and the crickets are the only souls awake nearby, he prays. He prays to his Dad and begs him for guidance, silent tears cascading down his face and threatening to give him away to the other occupants of his bedroom. He prays to somebody who isn’t there, who hasn’t been there since the day that he got sick right after his state capitals test and his father had to drive him home. He prays to somebody who would create someone as caring and nurturing and  _ *perfect _ * as his Dad and then take him away so abruptly, ending his life with the swift motion of cutting a loose thread from a sweater. 

He knows, the first time it happens in that locker room, that his Dad lied. Not everybody is protected, and they never will be. If there’s somebody up there who would allow a man like his Dad to die but a man like Carl Buford to live, then he doesn’t exactly want to believe in that somebody. He doesn’t want to accept that someone like Penelope could suffer so much in just fourteen years of life, but there are people at their school that barely give their parents a second glance. He knows his line of thinking is irrational, selfish even, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t understand why bad things always happen to good people, or why they had to happen to him.

So, no. It doesn’t get any easier. And it won’t get any easier until the day he’s finally free of Carl Buford and the Madison Heights football team. Until the day he finally leaves Lake Ridge behind and the faces of his peers, teammates, and teachers fade into nothingness. Until the day he can look at a football without his breath coming in short, stilted, gasps. Until he can finally make his Dad proud.

Be quiet, be patient, be grateful. It’ll be over soon. He’s sure of it.

~~~

“Alright, everybody take a seat!”

Derek finds himself being shoved slightly amongst some of the older, stockier kids on the team as they all scramble to find seats on the thin benches in the gym that afternoon. While a pre-practice announcement from their coach isn’t entirely unheard of, usually they’ll at least get their equipment and change out before any pep talks or strategy discussions. Derek settles in between Owen and Jack on the bleachers, crossing his right ankle over his left leg’s knee in an attempt to hide the fact that he’s unconsciously jiggling his leg again. That seems to be happening more often than not, especially when he happens to be in the same room as Buford.

“As you may or may not know we’ve got a recruiter from Ohio State coming out to Friday’s game,” the coach announces, immediately stirring conversation amongst the teenagers in the vicinity. Derek was only a sophomore but he was well aware that a recruiter was big news, especially this close to qualifying for playoffs. If they played well on Friday there could be more buzz surrounding their slightly ragtag team, leading to better scholarship opportunities and amenities for the team. Nobody had to tell him twice that this was potentially a very big deal. 

“Not only that, but this game determines if we’re playoff eligible. OUr standing is good right now, but we need to be better,” Coach Buford continues, shooting a slightly pointed gaze in Derek’s general direction. He swallows, acutely aware of how dry his throat goes despite the half-empty water bottle still clutched in his left hand. “This recruiter is a huge deal for those of you not already committed to schools. This could easily make or break your college careers, so don’t fuck it up, got it?” the man concludes, a slight smile playing on the corners of his lips. The rest of the team agrees in varying manners, all unanimous in their agreement. Eventually, the idle chatter dies down to a gentle buzz and they’re all dismissed from the bleachers to go and change out for practice. He’s just about to follow Owen and Jack into the confines of the locker room when, of course, he hears that familiar, gruff voice calling his name and he stops in his tracks without hesitation. He doesn’t think he could ever hear that voice without his heart nearly jumping out of his chest.

“Morgan! Hang back for a minute.” The coach calls after him and his teammates barely spare him a second glance as they all continue meandering their way back to the locker rooms. Of course they wouldn’t, because they’ve never seen anything off about how much extra time Morgan spends with their coach. Why would they question the quarterback merely discussing strategies after practice or going over plays? Why would anybody notice anything off when he just laughs or brushes their concern away? Their well-meaning questions get ignored for favor of switching the subject, and suddenly everybody seems to forget when he shows them just how relaxed he can be. It’s second nature to him at this point.

“Yes, Coach?” He questions, swallowing his apprehension once more. He shoves his hands into his front jeans pockets, knowing damn well that his fingers will grasp onto the hem of his shirt with nervous energy and absolutely betray his internal panic whenever he stands within a few feet of the man. His hands are a dead giveaway, so he hides them away. The less Buford can see into him, the better.

“I know you’re only a sophomore this year, but this Ohio State scholarship is a full ride,” His coach prefaces, barely glancing up from his clipboard. His nonchalance only infuriates Derek, the utterly blasé tone screaming his indifference about the entire situation. He doesn’t care about Derek or his future football career, he’s only doing this to establish some sort of manipulative power that he can use to his advantage. It’s absolutely textbook. “Athletic scholarships like this don’t come around often, and this is basically a one-way ticket to starting for the Buckeyes once you finally reach college. If that recruiter likes what he sees on Friday, I can easily see him back here in a few years to commit a certain quarterback to his school,” the man continues, gaze flickering between Derek’s impassive expression and the clipboard. “You’d like something like that, wouldn’t you?” He questions condescendingly, quirking his lips into a mocking smile. Derek narrows his gaze, already having deciphered his angle here. The recruiter, the casual mention of college football, the petty questions-- it’s all part of his much larger manipulation scheme. Dangle something promising in front of Derek’s trusting, gullible eyes and yank it away at the last second as if he were taunting a house cat. Everything comes at a fee, and Derek has to pay the price if he ever wants to succeed. That’s just the way the world works.

“Yes, sir.” He admits begrudgingly, realizing after a beat of tension-filled silence that the man is expecting a verbal answer. It’s almost more degrading to have to answer him out loud like a disobedient child than to be talked down to in the first place. Buford knows how vital a football career is to somebody like Derek. He doesn’t have the financial or parental support that other kids on the team do, not to mention the fact that he can’t rely on his book smarts to score a significant enough scholarship to attend a four-year university. Football is all he’s got, but of course Buford is well aware of that. That’s how he singled out Derek in the first place at that first tryout session for varsity back in August. Unknowingly, Derek had marked himself a dead man as soon as he stepped onto that field, wearing his pride and dedication on his sleeve like a petulant child. 

“Sure would make things a hell of a lot easier for you I’m guessing.” He adds casually and Derek resists the urge to scoff. 

Stay relaxed. Stay emotionless. Don’t let him see you react. He wants to get a rise out of you. He wants you to get angry. Don’t give him what he wants. 

“Yes it would, sir.” He mutters, jaw clenched so tightly he fears he may break a molar. 

“So, I reckon you’re not gonna do anything to jeopardize this opportunity. Am I right?” The man taunts, raising an eyebrow inquisitively. Derek resists the urge to throw a punch right then and there. He knows the answer already. He knows they’re in too deep for Derek to say a word. Knows he’s too much of a coward to go running to anybody and ruin the image of the perfect high school quarterback he’s cultivated. Ruin any opportunities of getting out of Lake Ridge. Ruin his own life with the piteous stares and empty apologies. 

There’s only one right answer.

“No, sir.” 

“Attaboy,” Buford chuckles, his smile growing a bit wider as he does so. Derek feels his stomach flip at the sight. “That’s what I like to hear. Hit the field for conditioning and start leading warm-ups. I’ll be out in a few,” He orders and Derek makes a sharp turn on his heel, hands still rooted deeply in his jeans pockets. He works on managing his breathing back to an even rate and makes it about four steps away before that voice calls out just one more time, wrapping around his mind like a python encircling its prey in a suffocating grip. He figures that’s more than an apt comparison considering the fact that there’s never been a singular conversation with Carl Buford where he hasn’t felt a constriction so tight on his lungs that he’s convinced he may pass out from asphyxiation. 

“Oh! And Morgan?” The voice questions. He stops, but doesn’t turn back around. He doesn’t think he can without breaking down. “Loosen up, kid. You don’t play well when you’re tense like that.” The man cajoles lightly, his voice coursing through the stale gymnasium air with ease. Even when Derek swallows, nods, and continues his lone trek back to the locker rooms at the end of the gym, he can’t get the echo of that voice out of his mind. Can’t forget the way his mocking tone, dripping with false concern plays like a broken record in his head. 

The second he reaches the safety of the locker room, he immediately drops to the floor and sits cross legged, his heaving back and shoulder pressed firmly up against one of the walls lined with lockers. He’s alone, but for once, the solitude is blissful. There’s no team, no Buford, no anybody to watch as the tears begin to fall and his breaths come in sharp, violent gasps. 

He’s finally alone. For once, that’s okay by him. 

xxx 

“So, what did you wanna talk about?”

Admittedly, when Alex pulls him away from Rossi a few minutes before the beginning of lunch, he’s not sure what to expect. The girl has quickly become a steadfast friend to not only Spencer, but the rest of their weary, disjointed family over the course of just a month or so. Ever since that afternoon when she discovered Spencer sobbing in the supply closet with a chest full of bruises, he feels almost indebted to her. She watches over his youngest brother in a similar protective manner to how he does and he appreciates that more than the girl probably knows, especially considering the fact that Spencer is more inclined to be vulnerable and honest with her. He tries not to let that sting too much, however, knowing that the boy tends to hide crucial details of his life from those closest to him for fear of rejection. 

It’s that exact reason why he’s a bit on edge at the girl’s declaration of needing to talk. He’s unsure of what news she intends to share with him, but judging by the exasperated and concerned look plaguing her gentle demeanor, he figures it’s not positive.

“It’s Spencer,” She admits with a slight exhale, brushing a few loose strands of auburn hair from her eyes. She stands nearly a head shorter than Hotch, but her gaze holds a rare form of maturity that he’s scarcely seen in anyone so young outside of himself. He doesn’t know Alex on the same level that Spencer does, but he knows that she would kill to protect the kid. Which is why he trusts her without doubt when she expresses her concern. “I-I know it sounds dumb, but I’m worried.” She sighs, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth as she explains a familiar feeling that Hotch has become well-acquainted with over the last few years. At this point, worrying about Spencer is ingrained.

“That’s not dumb. I think he’d walk into oncoming traffic if somebody wasn’t around to watch him,” He scoffs good-naturedly, rectifying her self-doubt. She allows him a weary smile. “What’s wrong?” He questions, attempting to keep his tone level and his growing apprehension at bay. He doesn’t need to freak Alex out any more by giving into panic.

“Yesterday when we were hanging out he, uh, he snapped at me?” She mumbles, clearly unsure of exactly how to phrase her concerns. “He got really upset after these two girls came up to talk to him.” She adds swiftly, and suddenly Hotch feels a light flicker on in the back of his mind. He grimaces at the explanation, remembering how JJ had basically regaled the same worries to him a month or so prior when certain events had transpired in the mall bookstore one afternoon. The uncertainty of how to address the situation begins to clear like dissipating fog, but the new information doesn’t help ease his mind any. He knows that any involvement between Spencer and that crowd isn’t good news.

“Let me guess, Alexa Lisbon and Harper Hillman?” He scoffs dryly, the taste of their names on his tongue an unwelcome one. He barely prefers to spare that group a second thought, let alone discuss them and the way their social circle takes such amusement in physically and emotionally torturing an eleven-year-old kid. Unfortunately for him, Haley doesn’t seem too averse to their friendship and consistently refutes his denouncement of them with claims of ‘they’re not always like that!’, which is absolutely laughable. Yeah, and a serial killer isn’t always like * _ that _ * either, but he wouldn’t walk right up and attempt to befriend one of them. 

“You know?” Alex asks, both of her eyebrows raising in inquisitive surprise. He gives a solitary nod.

“Sort of. I hear more about them from the gossip Rossi tries to get me to care about than Spencer though.” He admits. Preferably, he’d want to hear even less about them than he already does, but their names are relatively unavoidable on campus considering their intense social standing. 

“Well they came up to him and started...I’m not sure,” she sighs, voice trailing off with uncertainty in her description of the previous afternoon’s events. “They weren’t openly laughing at him, but it’s clear they weren’t just trying to talk about chemistry tutoring. I don’t know what their deal is but I don’t trust them.” She concludes, and although there’s not a wealth of evidence to go off of, Hotch immediately understands what she’s implying. He’d be lying if he claimed that he hadn’t experienced a similar reaction before. 

“Believe me, I don’t trust them either.” He assures her, encouraging her to continue her harried recollection.

“When I told him that maybe he should watch out for their, I don’t know, actual intentions? He just went flying off the handle,” She adds. Suddenly, her demeanor flickers from confused protectiveness to a more downtrodden look. In the short amount of time he’s actually known Alex he’s never seen her look so plaintive. “I-I feel so bad, Hotch. I think I really upset him,” She groans, clearly bothered on a more personal level than he could have expected. “I was just trying to be honest and look out for him, but I think that clearly backfired.” She scoffs without humor, wrapping both arms around herself in a form of self-comfort that’s all too reminiscent of the way Spencer does so. He feels a pang of sympathy for her, knowing exactly how it feels to be rebuffed by the one person he’s just trying to help. 

“Look, don’t beat yourself up,” He advises, twisting his lips into a tight smile that’s intended to be reassuring, but he isn’t sure that Alex believes him. “Spencer flips between these two mentalities of trying to handle the weight of the world on his shoulders or seeking out comfort from one of us. He’s-- well, he’s eleven in a high school where none of us can be there all of the time to watch out for him, as much as we try to be,” He reasons rationally, surprising even himself with his sudden and honest analysis of his younger brother’s behavioral traits. Alex maintains a consistent eye contact with him, drinking in every word and gradually relaxing as he continues his lengthy explanation. “He sees himself on the same level as the rest of us, and his intelligence even tricks us into thinking that’s true, but that doesn’t help when he breaks down from the pressure he puts on himself to mature twice as fast as any normal kid.” He elaborates solemnly, grimacing at the notion of how his youngest brother tends to repress his emotions almost as well Aaron does. It’s not exactly the example he’s intended to set for the kid, but unfortunately Spencer has become more than adept at forcing himself into an impenetrable solitude until he inevitably cracks and needs somebody else to gather the fragmented pieces.

“Do you think..,he hates me?” Alex questions tentatively, idly picking at one of her thumbnails in an agitated manner. He immediately shakes his head, not even bothering to let the question linger before he answers with the obvious.

“Of course not,” He amends instantly, injecting as much emphasis into his tone as possible. “I know you didn’t mean to upset him and he knows that too. He only reacted poorly because he just wants to be like everyone else, and the constant reminder that he can’t is crushing him.” He expounds, taking it as a positive sign when Alex flashes him a tiny smile.

“Jesus, you sound like his psychologist.” She jests good-naturedly, and he lets himself chuckle gently at her blunt observation.

“Yeah, you should hear my theories on Derek.” He scoffs, rolling his eyes slightly at the notion. In fact, her comparison of his temperament and analysis to a psychologist isn’t too far-fetched. While it was never his intention to do so, he’s definitely become somewhat of a dollar store therapist to his siblings over the last few years. He never fails to recognize the obvious signs of strain in their eyes or the way that he can always identify their specific needs from a mile away. That’s partially why it bugs him like an incessant fly when he can’t be present to solve every single problem in their lives. Their lives take altering courses like the confusing channels of a river, branching off into several directions, but they always end back up in the same destination in the end. Logically, he knows he can’t expect to act as everyone’s savior while maintaining his own sanity, but he sure as hell can try to grant them a moment of solace amongst the dreariness they have to face each day with a brave face. That’s what he’s there for in the first place, isn’t it?

“Thank you for talking me down. I know I sound crazy, but I just don’t want him getting hurt, y’know?” Alex reveals, her gratitude evident in the way her entire figure relaxes from its previously tense hold. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong by just looking out for him, trust me. As much as he wants to be treated like an adult, he’s still just a kid. So thank you, y’know, for protecting him too.” He counters, nodding meaningfully in her direction. He’s not exactly a champion at expressing every emotion in the book, but he’s sure that Alex gets the gist of his message. The two share more similarities than he previously profiled, especially when it comes to looking out for Spencer.

“I just hope he doesn’t do anything stupid because of those girls,” She sighs, her eyes holding more worry than they should, but Hotch doesn’t refute her concerns. “I don’t trust them at all.” She adds, restating her earlier point. He nods in silent agreement, his stomach twisting slightly at the notion of Spencer’s tormentors getting a hold of him through the innocent guise of his simple crush on Alexa. That’s something he certainly doesn’t want to consider, but luckily he’s got a few extra eyes in the hallways now to watch out for the kid. The next time any bullies lay a hand on his youngest brother, it’s over his dead body.

“Haley hangs around them sometimes, I’ll ask her if she’s heard anything,” he admits a bit begrudgingly, not entirely proud of the fact that his girlfriend is still friends with the kids that set out to make his brother’s life a living hell. “But don’t worry. It’ll be okay.” he smiles weakly. Alex nods plaintively, but he can tell that she’s not exactly accepting of his empty reassurances. He doesn’t blame her either. 

As they head into the cafeteria together, he’s unsure of who he was really attempting to convince with his last statement. He wonders not only if the truth falls from his tongue as easily as a white lie, but whether or not the truth would be something he could bear to tell. The blame and burdens rest heavy on his shoulders, but the accumulated guilt remains deep in his heart. 

He had to protect the kid. He had to be the older brother. He couldn’t fail.

Not again.

xxx 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> poor Hotch :( hope you enjoyed this little chapter! i will try to post the next one as soon as possible!!


	21. i’m not afraid of anything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG AGAIN!!! but here's a fun Derek-centric chapter because I love this poor boy so much and he is...struggling. also Ellemily! Definitely time for some serious angst in the next chapters so get ready for that shit. ANyway thanks for reading my content and continuing to comment i seriously love hearing from all of you and i want to know what you think always! so comment down below if u enjoyed this chapter/what you that/if you have any feedback! Thanks always to kk, noelle, erin, and shemerin for motivating me to write and inspiring me. OH! And hmu @doctcrspencerreid on tumblr if u want :,) Enjoy the chapter!
> 
> Disclaimer: aspects of this work bear similarities to the separate publication “Patron Saint of Lost Causes”. the author of this work attributes the content in this chapter to the correct source (@themetaphorgirl). Publication of this work is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not replace the intellectual property of the above source. This work is intended for personal, non-commercial use only and the author attributes subsequently reproduced or reconstructed concepts to the original source, all rights reserved.

The stillness of the early evening settles in with a thick layer of silence throughout the entire house. Which, understandably, happens to be a rarity in their household.

The slam of the front door echoes in his already throbbing head, resonating for a few moments after the initial sound. Derek shuffles dejectedly into the main room, noting an apparent lack of anybody usually milling about. He spares a quick glance at the kitchen counter, expecting to find the remnants of dinner waiting on the stove, but the kitchen is as bare as they left it that morning prior to leaving for school. Furrowing his brow, he regards the digital face of the microwave clock, wondering if he’s somehow gotten home earlier than usual and simply lost track of time, which would provide an ample explanation for the nonexistent presence of his siblings. 

His eyes catch a flash of white tacked to the fridge that wouldn’t usually be there and he takes a few tentative steps forward, noting that the scrawl on the note is definitely Hotch’s frenzied handwriting.

* _ Emily and I both work tonight. There’s leftover chicken in the fridge for dinner. Make sure you eat the salad! I’ll know if you don’t (Penelope). Be back later. _ * 

Derek heaves a sigh, not without smirking slightly at the slight call-out of his younger sister and her aversion to the spinach salad mix Hotch always buys. It’s not as though he’s completely inept when it comes to cooking, but if he doesn’t have the energy to throw anything together after afternoons like these. Leftovers or not, he merely shrugs his gym bag over his shoulder a bit more centrally and turns out of the kitchen. 

It’s the exhaustion and soreness that settles into his bones that perturbs him most. After a solid practice, an intense workout session, or a long run on summer evenings, he usually doesn’t feel this drained. The adrenaline from exercising keeps him going all day, a giddy smile plastered on his face after a successful practice that doesn’t fade for hours afterwards. Out of everything, he thinks he misses that most of all: the excitement of trampling off the field with his teammates, hanging off each other’s every word and roaring with laughter at the dumb jokes they share in the locker room. He misses the sense of pride that rushed through his body whenever he slipped into his newly minted letterman jacket. He misses not feeling like the sky is caving in on him whenever he steps outside the confines of his bedroom.

He figures, in a far different sense, this is what Hotch experiences on a day-to-day basis. The sense of perpetual dread or constant exhaustion that he can’t shake, no matter how much caffeine he pumps into his body to offset the causes of never getting enough rest. Although at first it was a foreign concept to him, his mind has adapted to the changes to the best of its abilities over the past few months. The sharp pains have leveled into nothing but a dull ache, an incessant twinge that doesn’t fade no matter what he tries. All that’s really been affected is his ability to hide it better now. 

He clears his mind in an attempt to leave his unpleasant thoughts behind as he crosses over into the threshold of his shared bedroom. The ceiling fan light is turned on in addition to the lamp that rests on the nightstand located in-between his and Spencer’s beds. He regards Spencer briefly, the kid sprawled out on his own mattress tightly gripping an open book in one hand. Derek can automatically tell that the kid isn’t actually reading, however, due to the fact that he hasn’t turned the page five times since Derek walked in the room. 

Ignoring the slight painful soreness that permeates throughout his entire body, he drops his too-heavy equipment bag to the bedroom floor, making sure to kick it out of the doorway so that Hotch doesn’t have to reprimand him for the fiftieth time for leaving his junk in the way. 

“Hey, kid.” He greets softly, his voice rasping slightly from lack of speech during his trek home after practice. Spencer glances up with an unfocused gaze, granting him a tight, thin-lipped smile in response. The kid’s hair is tousled considerably and his shoes have been haphazardly kicked into a disorderly heap by his bed. The creases on his face suggest that he’s been dormantly laying on one side for at least an hour and Derek pulls a frown at the mental image of his three youngest siblings having to spend the afternoon in an empty house. It’s not that Penelope isn’t capable or that JJ and Spencer are entirely immature, but if he had just been home from practice earlier maybe he could have saved some of his ever-fleeting energy to try and concoct a suitable meal for them.

“Hey, what’s up?” The kid replies nonchalantly, his voice equally as hoarse. He deftly marks his page with a dog-eared fold before shutting the novel and setting it on their nightstand. Derek slumps with great relief to his own mattress, savoring the temporary respite from his growing exhaustion. He sinks into the duvet cover, his legs dangling over the side of his bed with his head lying parallel to the pillows at the head of the mattress. The dingy ceiling fan above rocks slightly with the effort of circulation and Derek follows the pattern of the blades with a lethargic gaze, the cyclical path almost calming him as he admires it from below.

“Nothin’,” He remarks idly, listening intently as Spencer’s rickety bed frame creaks when the kid shifts on the mattress. “What’s up with you?” He questions absentmindedly, not expecting much in the way of a response. Spencer doesn’t tend to expound much on the episodic events of his day-to-day life, especially not to Derek. 

“Oh, uh, well...I actually have a question.” The younger boy admits tentatively, his voice much less self-assured. The unexpected admission is surprising enough to pull Derek’s idle gaze from the overhead fan blades and he sits up slightly, ignoring the protests of his sore upper chest as he does so. He didn’t expect that for an answer.

“If you’re about to ask me to help you with your math homework I think we both already know the answer is a big fat no.” He scoffs, trying for humor. His joke seems to lighten the mood between them and Spencer chuckles at the notion, pushing a hand through his ruffled curls.

“No offense Derek, but the day I ask you for help with math is the day that Hotch starts doing ballet.” The kid retorts with a brutal amount of honesty. Caught off guard by the statement, he lets out a bark of unrestrained laughter at the response. However, the sudden movement strains his already aching body to another degree and he attempts to conceal his grimace at the protests from his torso.

“Don’t even make me picture that, man.” He warns, chuckling softly. He settles on propping himself up on one elbow into a half-sitting position to face the kid. There’s nothing more he wants in that moment than to retreat to the steamy embrace of a scalding hot shower to burn away the sensation of another’s hands on his body, but he figures he can spare a few minutes to talk to his younger brother. It’s increasingly rare that Spencer reaches out to him for advice, and while it’s most likely due to the fact that both Hotch and Emily are absent that evening, he’ll still take it as a sort of compliment.

“No, I don’t need help with math,” Spencer counters, twisting his mouth into an uncomfortable looking expression. “I need help with-- well, okay, I need um...I just was looking for advice on how to--” He snowballs into a familiar rambling state, clearly unable to express anything beyond the limits of his pre-established knowledge. Admittedly, it’s slightly endearing to see the kid flounder a bit, especially considering his usual eloquent and long-winded explanations of trivial information that the rest of them rarely ask to hear about it. But, Derek cuts in after a few seconds, already guessing what the central issue is without needing to wait for his brother to finish his apprehensive explanation.

“Girls?” He questions, a knowing smirk plastered on his face. 

“Yeah,” Spencer sighs immediately, his shoulders relaxing with the confession. “How’d you know?” The kid grills, furrowing his brow a bit. Derek restrains himself from a patented eye roll, not eager to get into a discussion of how Spencer really needs to work on his poker face. 

“I can always tell,” he supplies cryptically. However, this doesn’t seem to be a suitable enough answer for the kid who narrows his gaze in disbelief, raising an eyebrow inquisitively. “Also you’ve got that look on your face that Hotch gets whenever he stands next to Haley for more then two seconds,” He adds, Spencer immediately flushing at the accusation. Derek, however, is pretty amused by the entire situation. “So, who’s the lucky girl that my baby brother is falling for?” He continues teasingly, delighting in the way that Spencer’s cheeks turn an embarrassing shade of red. “Wait, don’t tell me. Alex?” He questions, grinning widely as Spencer’s brown eyes fly open in unmitigated shock. It takes every fiber of his being not to burst out laughing at the unprecedented reaction.

“No!” The boy protests immediately, his ears and neck joining his cheeks with a deep shade of scarlet. Derek stifles a laugh as the boy glares at him from across the room. “Not in a million years! No, no, no!” He vehemently denies, gesticulating so wildly that Derek is convinced he may fall off of his own bed. That doesn’t stop the response from being absolutely hilarious, however. “She’s my friend, but she’s not like... * _ that _ * kind of a friend!” He argues, scowling as deeply as Hotch usually does. Derek is almost trembling from fighting back his laughter, but he figures he doesn’t want the kid to feel any more self conscious than he already does, so he steadies himself before speaking again.

“Alright kid, chill out,” He advises, swallowing a gulp of air to restrain himself from laughing. Spencer seems unconvinced of his nonchalance, but Derek continues nonetheless. “Just trying to gauge the situation here. So, who is it?” He questions, admittedly with a hint of piqued interest. It’s not everyday that his brother expresses intrigue in subjects outside the realm of his usual comfort zone, such as chemistry and mathematics. In fact, he doubts that he’s ever heard Spencer even mention the name of a girl outside of their sisters or Alex. 

“Well, it’s nobody in particular…” His voice trails off with uncertainty, suddenly gaining a newfound interest in his nails rather than meeting Derek’s gaze. “I just wanted to know if you could tell me what I should do when...y’know, I have to talk to one of them.” The kid confesses, restlessly picking at the skin of his thumb in a form of nervous habit that Derek has rarely recognized in him. He smiles slightly at the request, finding it absolutely endearing that Spencer would come to him for this subject. Of course, that could be more due to the fact that he just so happens to be somewhat of an expert in the high school pick-up game. More so than Hotch or Rossi at least.

“Of course I’ll give you some of my tips, kid,” He acquiesces, propping himself up in bed to a more comfortable position. “Better me than from Rossi.” He tacks on jokingly, although to be fair, he’s also completely serious. The last thing Spencer needs is to come back from Rossi with his head full of ideas of asking girls out for a week or two and then immediately ghosting them when he grows weary of their presence in his life. In fact, he intends to keep Rossi and his ‘advice’ away from Spencer at all costs. At least until the kid is out of college. Spencer scoffs lightly at the mention of their older brother’s best friend, more than well aware of the other boy’s...unique penchant for flirting.

“So what do you know?” The kid ventures, sitting up slightly in bed and righting the tilted frames of his glasses in the process. The downy tufts of light brown hair fall into his eyes, obscuring part of impossibly tiny face, inadvertently reminding Derek of just how young his brother is. His ever-expanding knowledge and voracious mind pick up a teeming crowd of information at every turn throughout his day, but he still lacks in certain subjects imperative to human survival. Such as flirting. The only thing is, Derek’s not too sure he’s entirely qualified to be giving out lectures on the subject. Although, he figures he’s more equipped to provide advice about girls than Hotch is, especially considering the fact that his older brother basically only lucked into having a girlfriend via auditioning for the school’s musical. 

“What don’t I know?” he retorts, injecting as much false bravado and confidence into his voice as possible. “Well, for starters, I guess it helps that I play football. That makes it easier to meet girls cause the cheerleaders are always hanging around.” he explains, attempting to clear the bemused look plastered on Spencer’s face. Belatedly, he realizes that perhaps that was the wrong example to use, but Spencer calls him on it before he can amend his mistakes.

“Yeah, if you haven’t noticed that’s not exactly gonna happen for me.” The kid quips dryly with a half eye roll. 

“Okay, it doesn’t just have to be football,” Derek sighs, smirking slightly at the kid’s narrowed gaze. “Girls are into guys on teams. What about your uh, robot club thing? That’s like a team, right?” He ventures warily, racking his brain for the specific memory of Spencer’s robotics competition last semester. “Any cute girls come to see your science fair?” He inquires, stifling a yawn as he does so. The last thing Derek wants to do is to clue Spencer into his subtle exhaustion. The kid has a repeated tendency to overthink just about every minuscule, seemingly insignificant detail in another person’s behavior and may perceive something as imperceptible as a yawn to mean that Derek is tired of him. At this point in his life, he knows how to be sensitive towards Spencer’s heightened anxiety regarding other people’s actions.

“Not exactly…” Spencer responds, his voice trailing off with uncertainty at the query. “Unless you count the moms in the audience, which I’m relatively certain you’re not.” He scoffs sardonically, prompting Derek to roll his eyes. Yeah, this conversation would definitely be taking a  _ highly _ different turn if Rossi were the one at the wheel. 

“All I’m saying is that chicks think competing is sexy,” He clarifies, not missing the grimace that flickers across Spencer’s face at the word ‘sexy’. “You like chess, right? You could start a chess tournament and wait for cute girls to show up.” He recommends, but as soon as the words leave his mouth he’s already second-guessing them. Spencer’s dubious expression isn’t exactly comforting either. The younger boy heaves a dejected sigh before flopping back onto his singular pillow, clearly not at all reassured by their conversation thus far.

“I don’t think the girls that I like are the kind interested in watching me play chess,” He responds with candor, pulling a face at the notion. Derek can’t exactly blame him either. He doesn’t want to address the situation with a sense of blind optimism, but he’s not entirely sure how to convey his advice in an honest manner without inadvertently offending the kid. “Not to mention the fact that it can get pretty brutal out there sometimes,” Spencer adds pensively and Derek genuinely has to stop breathing in order to hold back his snort of laughter. Spencer seems to notice his dubious reaction and gives him a scathing look in response. “I’m not kidding! The pressure for timed moves, the intense history, the endless permutations. Did you know that the number of possible unique chess games outweighs the amount of electrons in the universe? The number of electrons in our measurable universe is estimated to be-” The kid launches into a familiar sounding ramble and Derek, relatively sure that he’s received this exact spiel before, cuts him off with a restless chuckle.

“Okay, well what kind of girls are you interested in, kid?” He questions, feeling as though receiving an answer might be tantamount to pulling teeth. Evidently, after a moment of subdued silence, he’s proven incorrect when Spencer mumbles something under his breath from across the room. His whisper is so barely audible that Derek has to lean over to even realize that he’s spoken.

“ _ al’ksaisbn.”  _ The kid mutters incoherently. Derek furrows his brow, trying to decipher what in the hell his brother just told him.

“What?” He counters at the incomprehensible response. Spencer groans, writhing with exasperation in order to hide his face in his pillow. Derek doesn’t even need to look over to know that the kid is probably turning as red as a beet. 

“ _ alexasbon”  _ He repeats, slightly louder in volume but severely muffled due to his position against his pillow. Derek perks up at the sound, but it’s still merely just a mess of jumbled syllables to his ears. Finally, he heaves a sigh at the kid’s bashful nonsense and sits up a bit further on his mattress, legs still dangling off the edge of his bed.

“Dude, c’mon, just say it.” He chides with an air of impatience. He waits with bated breath as Spencer lifts his face from the security of his pillow, looking absolutely miserable.

“I said: Alexa! Lisbon!” He shouted conclusively, emphasizing both her first and last name. Derek barely has a split second to react before a third voice from right outside the crack in their door joins in, cheerful and easily recognizable despite the fact that she’s not in the room.

“Ooh! Alexa Lisbon? She’s cute!” Penelope squeals from outside their slightly ajar door. Spencer and Derek’s eyes both rapidly dart over to the entrance to their room and Derek watches as the boy’s face somehow turns a deeper shade of scarlet than it already was.

“Penelope! Go away!” He protests. In a swift motion Spencer is snatching his pillow from behind his head and hurling it at the door, Penelope’s giggles falling on deaf ears as she retreats into the safety of her own room right next door. Spencer’s nearly flat pillow hits the door with a pitiful thud before dropping in a clumsy heap to the carpeted floor. Derek’s eyes dart back over to the figure of his younger brother, shame-faced and earnestly agitated at the realization of what he’s just revealed. Derek can’t blame him for feeling embarrassed either. 

He knows from firsthand experience of trying to cajole information out of the petulant boy how draining that must have been to reveal, but the statement in itself poses a bit more worry than his current emotional state. And really, it’s not just that he knows his eleven-year-old certified genius little brother doesn’t have a shot in hell at getting with the school’s coveted head cheerleader; his concern stems more from the glaringly obvious fact that Alexa and her gaggle of bitchy cheerleaders are the type to exact seemingly harmless practical jokes on the lowest ranking members of the Madison Heights population. He knows that Spencer’s impenetrable hyperthymesia won’t allow him to forget the instance from freshman year when Alexa oh-so-innocently tweeted out several crude photos of Brooke Willis, causing the girl’s subsequent transfer due to the intense bullying she endured after that point. However, purposefully selective memory stands no match against incredibly accurate episodic information recall, so it’s not all that surprising that Spencer has chosen to omit this from his knowledge in the process.

It’s not like the kid’s the only one in the school to fantasize about Alexa either. Derek’s had his fair share of crushes on the cheerleading squad as well, but he can’t help but worry. Especially considering the fact that half the football team shoots him death glares in the hallway whenever he’s seen standing in close proximity to his youngest brother. Having to pretend like that doesn’t hurt, however, is a meager task compared to protecting his brother against the harsh reality of their high school’s vicious hierarchy. 

“Okay…” Derek finally vocalizes after a prolonged moment of silence as he attempts to digest the gravity of the information he’s been presented with. Spencer’s brown eyes seem to be focusing in on anywhere in the small room aside from him, a strong indicator that whatever Derek says next will absolutely make or break the conversation (and his brother’s wavering self-confidence). He pauses again before continuing, not wanting to screw up and send the kid reeling. “Alexa Lisbon. Interesting choice.” he comments vaguely, hoping his nebulous response won’t clue the kid into how skeptical he is of the seemingly innocent crush. 

Spencer, however, zeroes in on him as soon as he responds, almost as if he’s a hawk spotting his prey from fifty feet above. 

“Why is that so interesting?” he counters impudently, eyes narrowing in a challenging stance. Derek immediately throws both hands up in surrender, letting the kid know that he doesn’t mean any harm by his observation. 

“Chill, kid. I’m just thinking. Don’t bite my head off or anything,” he admonishes lightly and Spencer wilts slightly at the order. It’s more than obvious he’s grown rather defensive over the subject, but Derek can see why. Just like his copious amounts of facts or incessant stream of obscure knowledge, this part of him, however chimerical, is sacred in a way. It’s a dream, despite its implausibility, that he doesn’t want to let go of. Derek can understand that at least. In fact, the entire scenario is somewhat reminiscent of something his Dad used to say before he passed. He figured he might as well share Hank Morgan’s-- only slightly flawed- knowledge with the kid as well. “Girls are like...sandwiches. You know why that is?” He questions, imparting one his father’s most timeless quotes in a paraphrased manner. Hey, if it got the point across, he’d take it.

Spencer perks up at the foreign idiom, clearly intrigued by the concept. He visibly considers Derek’s question for a moment, and before Derek can inform him of the actual meaning of the statement, the kid blurts out his own uninhibited answer.

“Worse with mayo?” Spencer responds, screwing up his face slightly at the notion. Derek furrows his brow in confusion. He definitely didn’t expect that for an answer.

“Worse with-- what? No, listen,” he sighs, shaking his head at the ridiculous quip. “Girls are like sandwiches cause they’re all completely different from each other, but they’re all good in one way or another. So you can eat the same sandwich everyday for the rest of your life and that’s fine. Or you can branch out and try a new sandwich and you might like that one even better. Does that make any sense?” He lectures, only glancing up to to gauge the kid’s reaction once he’s finished with his metaphor. Spencer, however, evidently doesn’t comprehend a word of what he’s just said.

“I don’t think I’m getting the point.” The kid theorizes and Derek stifles a scoff. Yeah, you could say that again. He contemplates for a moment, thinking about how to approach the conversation from a different angle so that his brother can see his message.

“What I’m saying is that you’re just interested in one particular...sandwich right now, right?” he begins and Spencer gives a solitary nod, encouraging Derek to continue with his explanation. “And that sandwich is head cheerleader Alexa Lisbon. That’s a pretty intense sandwich, even for me and I’m like a professional sandwich eater,” he adds, but pauses as soon as the words leave his mouth. Even Spencer shoots him a bemused glance, raising both eyebrows inquisitively as he attempts to process what Derek has just said. “Gross, ugh, not like  _ that _ . That sounded weird,” He groans, pulling a face at his own verbiage, passively ignoring Spencer’s miniscule smirk. “ What I’m trying to say is that you could pine over this one sandwich forever or you could test out some other sandwiches and see what kind you like best. Does  _ that _ make any sense?” He concludes, slightly exasperated at the long-winded explanation he’s having to go through. He knew he should have chosen a different metaphor.

“Are you saying that I shouldn’t have a crush on Alexa Lisbon?” Spencer ventures warily, clearly still not entirely grasping Derek’s point. Derek attempts to offer him a placating smile, running one of his hands through his hair. What he wouldn’t give to be away from this conversation and taking a hot shower right now.

“All I’m saying is that we’re in control of the sandwiches we like,” he elaborates once more, selecting his words with care as he does so. He really doesn’t want to send Spencer into a tailspin over something he’s so sensitive about. “I can’t sit here and tell you what your favorite sandwich is, only you can know that. But, I can tell you that sometimes there are sandwiches that you may wanna try because they look good on the outside, but on the inside the cheese is actually rotten. Or somebody put mayo on it and it’s been sitting out in the sun for three hours,” he quips, referencing Spencer’s earlier comment about mayonnaise. The kid doesn’t show any signs of recognition that he’s understood and Derek silently wonders how his brother can somehow grasp overly complex concepts of science and mathematics, but completely miss the boat as soon as Derek brings up the subject of romantic attraction or preference. “Am I just confusing you more?” He sighs. Spencer allows him a plaintive nod.

“A bit.” he confirms.

“Alright. Listen: don’t lock yourself down to one sandwi-girl,” he orders, finally electing to just drop the metaphor and tell it to the kid straight. Or, as straight as he possibly can without causing an uproar and a highly offended Spencer. “Just keep your options open and who knows? You might find someone even better who you’re more interested in than Alexa. There are literally endless sandwich combinations out there and you have plenty of time to try all of them.” he explains with finality, knowing that there’s no clearer way to convey his message than just outright saying it. In retrospect, he probably should have approached the conversation that way in the first place. Spencer manages a weary smirk, a mischievous glint present in his gaze as he answers. 

“Technically depending on the scenario there’s no way that there’s endless combinations. If we examine the situation by using Cantor’s theory of transfinite numbers we see that-” Spencer leads into another verbose lecture once more, and for the second time that evening, Derek cuts him off before he can get the ball rolling. 

“Alright, alright! There’s a lot of sandwiches in the world. Happy?” He scoffs, shooting a look of mock-exasperation in the kid’s direction. Spencer’s smirk only grows, clearly proud of the controversy he’s caused.

“Marginally,” he admits and Derek feels the proverbial weight lifted from his shoulders. “And thanks for the advice, even if it didn’t make any sense,” the kid quips teasingly and Derek mimes hurtling his pillow at the boy’s head. “But some of it did!” Spencer rapidly backpedals, throwing his arms up to cover his face even as Derek sets his pillow back down at the head of his mattress, grinning brightly at the kid’s reaction. 

“I’m here to help, kid.” He professes warmly, glad he could be of some miniscule assistance. The kid needs as many people as possible looking out for him, especially when the conniving likes of Alexa Lisbon are involved. He knows this better than anybody. He just hopes that his advice wasn’t too nebulous that the kid doesn’t completely misconstrue everything he’s said and take it to fit his own narrative.

Although, knowing Spencer, that’s just the way things go sometimes.

xxx 

Emily was never too skilled at keeping secrets.

Try as she might, she has a horrible propensity for immediately divulging any clandestine information she was trusted with upon the first sign of pressure. It was one of her biggest downfalls for the majority of her childhood with her elementary school friends. Although she would definitely argue that the stakes of keeping a secret in the second grade were immensely lower than hiding the fact that she’s engaged in a hidden relationship with a girl who her siblings very much still believe she harbors massive resentment for.

Okay, relationship is a strong label. 

She wouldn’t go as far as to say that her and Elle are  _ dating  _ by any means, especially considering the fact that it makes it sound as if she’s about eleven years old in terms of maturity. But the last week has been rife with a specific breed of ecstasy she’s only ever seen referenced in the types of cheesy, gag-inducing, over the top romantic comedy films that Penelope seems so obsessed with. But now, she kind of gets it. When she spends just a split second too long stealing a glance at Elle from across the room, she can fully comprehend the wealth of emotions necessary to fall head over heels for the romantic interest in one of those corny teen movies. When Elle spares her a knowing smile right before bumping her shoulder with her own, just as she had once done when they would walk the hallway together in-between class periods, her heart beats so rapidly she’s half convinced she’s suddenly contracted arrhythmia. When they’re pressed up against each other in the cleaning supplies closet at work with the lights dimmed so low that the only thing she’s aware of is Elle’s hands on her waist and the girl’s breath tickling her neck, everything just seems to click right into place.  _ This is how it’s supposed to be  _ she muses to herself every single time the other girl’s cherry lip balm lingers on her own lips,  _ this is what happiness feels like _ . It all just feels so right.

Except for the fact that it’s...not.

She supposes if things were really alright, she’d still be able to call Elle her best friend. Maybe even her girlfriend if they eventually worked up to such a massive change (and Emily finally got the guts to ask her). She could wrap Elle’s delicate, tan fingers around her own and hold on tight, as if silently proclaiming to the world that they were each other’s. If this were really one of those implausible, nonsensical teen romance films where the couple always beats all the odds come the conclusion of the 90-minute runtime, Elle would actually want to be seen with her. She can’t pretend like it doesn’t sting a little (more like a lot) when the girl insists that there’s no way in hell their surreptitious make out sessions at work can get out to anybody. She strictly prohibits Emily from telling even her own sisters, and at first, Emily can’t accept it. She can’t readily agree to lying to her own siblings so Elle can rest easy at night. But then, the girl shoots her a puppy-eyed look with her wide brown gaze that Emily swears could kill an unsuspecting bystander and she just...gives in. 

Not only that, but Elle makes some solid counterpoints to Emily’s initial vehement stance. Virginia isn’t exactly San Francisco or New York City in terms of widespread acceptance, and she’s not exactly sure of the implications they’d be making by announcing such a sudden development to their families. She knows for a fact that her siblings wouldn’t really care about who she chose to spend her time with, but she doesn’t doubt that they wouldn’t question the validity of her feelings. She loves Hotch, but even he has a remarkably annoying tendency to pick apart every detail of somebody’s life with invasive thoroughness. She doesn’t want to be interrogated about every aspect of her still-evolving sexual orientation and start to question everything she’s just started to accept about herself because her siblings just so happen to be nosy. It’s taken her almost two months to finally come to terms with everything, would she really want to risk that by opening herself up to criticism from those she cares most about?

“I’m not ashamed of you or anything. I’m just...afraid.” 

That’s Elle’s version of a ‘reassuring’ mantra in order to convince her to keep up with the facade of their hidden relationship. She figures even in rare cases like theirs, the fear tends to be the most dominant emotion. It seeps into imperceptible cracks in otherwise impenetrable armor and situates itself between them like a concrete wall. What’s funny is that Emily’s never been afraid of a whole lot in her sixteen years, but she can relate in a way. While Elle fears what’s to come by others discovering their feelings for each other, Emily fears just how strong her feelings have become for the other girl. She’s terrified by the notion of just how quickly she’s found herself irreversibly infatuated with the girl. Every second they spend together is both paralyzing and exhilarating, but for different reasons for the both of them. She freezes up, stutters, and trips over her own feet when she’s even in the same room as the other girl, but that’s what makes it so addicting. She’s never experienced that wealth of emotions with anybody else in her life, and that in itself is cause for some concern on her behalf. 

The fear is what drives Elle to secrecy, but it’s what makes Emily want to tell the rest of the world how she feels. 

It’s also what hinders them. A lot. Although it’s only been about a week, they move at a shockingly fast pace when it comes to their stolen moments in the storeroom at work, which quickly becomes their only safe haven aside from Elle’s car. Rationally, Emily figures that despite her friend’s reluctance when it comes to discussing the validity of their relationship, they can still hang out with each other at school like how they used to. She’s partially correct in her assumptions, but not entirely. Elle begins talking to her again during the classes they share, and on Wednesday she even ends up walking with her to study hall despite the fact that she has chemistry in the exact opposite direction, but the brief interactions are just that. Brief. Elle still elects to sit by her new group of friends during lunch, insisting that she has to just in order to keep up appearances and deter any harmful rumors from developing. Emily, of course, doubts this but doesn’t press the issue. She shares her lunch periods with Mick and Alex instead of the only person she’d really want to, but that’s okay. Really, it is. There’s still the store room at work, there’s still Elle’s car, and there’s still the moments when she feels the girl pressed so close up against her body that a single inhalation has the scent of Elle’s shampoo lingering in her thoughts for hours afterwards. Those moments are hers and hers alone, and no interfering siblings, vicious high school rumors, or homophobic Virginian towns can rip that away from her. 

“I’m not too sure about this.”

Breathless, but tentative. That’s Elle’s unfiltered confession as the girl lays centrally on top of her. For once, however, they’re not cramped in a dank supply closet at work or shuffling on top of each other in the back of Elle’s car. Emily’s room is abandoned for the time being, but this is far from an opportunistic seize of the moment, no, she’s had this planned out perfectly.

Well, more like she convinced Elle to skip seventh hour with her so that they could spend some much-needed alone time in Emily’s twin bed that afternoon. But, in her eyes, that counts as a plan. 

“Not too sure about what?” Emily questions, pausing in her futile attempts to unfasten Elle’s front-clasping bra. She’s never been able to understand how it seems impossible to undo the clasps of another girl’s bra, but it’s second-nature when it comes to her own. She furrows her brow, eyes trailing up to meet Elle’s hesitant gaze. She definitely doesn’t want to pressure her friend (girlfriend? Gal pal? They really need to work on a better title for situations like these) into doing anything she’s uncomfortable with, but she definitely wasn’t intending to go all the way in a single Friday afternoon either. Especially considering the fact that seventh hour is only 56 minutes in length and they’ve already spent 20 of those getting to her house and getting situated in the first place. Her siblings aren’t due home until about thirty minutes after the conclusion of the final bell, but Elle made it abundantly clear when she accepted to come over that afternoon that they had to be gone well before her siblings returned home. Considering their time restraints, Emily wasn’t exactly planning on introducing any crazy ideas that afternoon.

“I-I don’t know. Are you sure we’re alone?” Elle questions for what feels like the fifth time now. Emily grants her a reassuring smile, if not only to mask her own impatience. She can understand the apprehension surrounding the other girl, but it’s not as though her entire family is just about to come traipsing through the front door when they should all be at school anyway. 

“I promise. It’s just you and me.” She repeats, pressing a warm kiss against Elle’s bare neck. The girl exhales lightly, resuming her earlier position against Emily’s lips with her own as Emily reattempts to unfasten her bra. 

At first, things are awkward. Their movements are disjointed and wary, afraid of where they should put their hands or whether or not they should be asking before moving forward. But after those first few days, the two girls begin to slip into a general fluidity and trust in their actions. Since that first kiss at the party, Emily is well aware that they fit together like the last two pieces of a much larger puzzle, it just takes them both a moment or so to realize that for each other. It’s funny how apprehension has melded into familiarity, even over such a limited amount of time.And even if Elle is afraid to be seen with her or unlikely to ever reveal to anybody the true nature of their relationship, all of that is forgiven when the girl’s figure is pressed up against hers under Emily’s duvet. 

The sensation is utterly hypnotic and she revels in the closeness, eagerly devouring every second she feels the other girl against her. Even if they are at the most basic stage of a relationship, all she craves is the fact that Elle is physically right beside her. She could satiate herself on that notion alone for the next hundred years and be perfectly content with it. 

The rest of the world deteriorates as she absolutely loses herself and all common sense in Elle’s eyes. The strands of short brown her that tickle the top of her nose is all she’s able to process as Elle leans down to kiss her once more. The sweetness of her breath and the lingering scent of her warm sugar perfume disables all of her other senses without reprieve. She loves this feeling, as if she’s tumbling headfirst into another universe where the trivial aspects of her own don’t matter.

So maybe, that’s her excuse. Maybe that’s why she doesn’t tear her lips away from Elle’s at the first sign that there’s other life in the house. Maybe that’s why she’s unable to hear anything over the thrumming of her own heart and Elle’s soft giggles. Maybe that’s why she’s physically unable to sense that her door is slowly being pushed open just a crack, almost excruciating slowly. Maybe that’s why she doesn’t believe her own ears when there’s a third voice in the vicinity, the unmistakable sound of someone clearing their throat to garner attention. Maybe she doesn’t want to believe it.

But ‘maybe’ doesn’t change the past. No matter how much she wishes it could.

xxx 

To say that he wasn’t having a good day is the understatement of the year.

Fridays are usually all abuzz with a certain unflappable excitement that can only be from the thrill of an impending game. He’s usually on top of the world in all his classes, receiving eager praise and preliminary compliments from his teachers and peers. It’s definitely something he’s gotten used to from being a varsity starter for sure, but today is different. He feels groggy, uncoordinated, moody, and unfocused in all of his morning classes. He only vaguely registers when he’s being called on by his english teacher to answer a question about the dialectical journaling assignment and the rest of his class snickers when he feeds some bullshit answer that lands him a warning about paying attention in class.

“Just because you have a game tonight doesn’t mean you don’t exist off the field as well.” Ms. Weller reminds him haughtily and he swallows any biting remark he could make. He doesn’t need to land himself a detention right before one of the most stressful games of his life. Because, really, it’s not just another game. It can never be just a game. Of course it’s the night where the Ohio state recruiter is coming, but it’s also the night that determines whether or not they’ll qualify for playoffs and the championship. It’s the night where everything is riding on his shoulders as usual and he can’t step a toe out of line or he’ll screw the whole thing up, not only for himself but for the other guys on the team with him. It’s the night where two familiar gleaming eyes will be tracking his every movement like a hawk traces its prey, eager to sink his talons into an unsuspecting field mouse. He can never just have a normal evening.

Sometimes, he really doesn’t want to exist off the field.

But, he soldiers on, as his Dad would have wanted him to. He neatly compartmentalizes and tucks away the emotions that are too unpleasant to feel in that moment and moves from class to class in an uninterrupted trance. He stomachs his lunch, despite the fact that it feels as though he’s eating bricks, and he even earns a generous ‘well done’ after he correctly answers a question in geometry. 

But, then of course, it all has to fall apart.

The bell signaling the end of sixth hour comes with an eerie sense of foreboding. He hurriedly shoves his papers into his open backpack and slings the mass over his shoulder, shoving through the throng of students in the hallway in order to make it across the school to the gymnasium for his phys. Ed hour. He doesn’t mind mandatory gym class, unlike some kids do. Coach Fisher, although amiable, doesn’t really have a great lesson plan so he mainly spends the hour conditioning in the gym with some of the JV guys in his grade. It’s a good pre-practice workout that he savors every afternoon and he realizes with a twinge of regret that he’ll miss the free hour when his schedule shifts over at the conclusion of the fall semester. 

He’s just reached the gymnasium and is about to pull open the door to the indoor complex when a sudden voice over his right shoulder sends chills down his spine. 

“Morgan, I talked it over with Coach Fisher earlier. You’re with me this hour, we need to discuss tonight’s strategy.” 

The threat lingers in the seemingly innocuous phrases, but he knows better than to believe what he’s being presented at face value. He knows by now that he doesn’t have a say in whether or not he wants to. He knows that he never did.

So, he follows. Hesitantly, but blindly, into Buford’s office located by the men’s locker room. He follows and he doesn’t flinch when the door clicks shut behind him, the lock echoing not long after. He follows and shuts his eyes to block out his surroundings, believing in earnest that if he centers his breathing and focuses on a more pleasant memory, this isn’t really happening to him. He pictures the day his Dad took him fishing with some of his work buddies. Remembering the stillness of the lake in the early morning fog is what allows him to keep breathing throughout it all.

Thirty-four minutes pass. At the conclusion of their meeting, his Coach scrawls him a note on a yellow sticky pad and passes it to him with an air of indifference. As if entirely dismissing anything out of the ordinary. Derek swallows the rising bile in his throat, willing himself to wait until he’s alone to vomit or cry or do whatever he needs to do to get through the aftermath and his rapidly escalating panic. 

The note instructs him to head back to gym class and check in with Coach Fisher, but he doesn’t do so. More accurately, he can’t. He can’t bring himself to see anybody right now without absolutely breaking down and making a fool of himself. So, he just grabs his backpack and walks right out the front doors of Madison Heights. He tries to ignore the ringing in his ears or the biting chill of a November afternoon as he heads down to the bus stop a few blocks from the school, ignoring the way his lungs feel as though they’re circulating lead rather than air. The entire ride home he stares blankly outside of the bus window, unable to process the reality of what just happened to him. Of what will definitely happen again. He doesn’t want to think anymore.

Thirty minutes later, he’s dragging himself automatically up to the front stoop of their dilapidated home. He pushes open the front yard’s chain link fence with a trembling hand, but his heart almost leaps into his chest at an unfamiliar car parked in the driveway. He furrows his brow immediately, knowing that the savvy looking mid-size sedan definitely doesn’t belong to his asshole foster father or any of his drinking buddies. He figures it could be a social worker and briefly considers high-tailing it out of there before he disregards the notion as implausible, due to the fact that one of their social worker’s wouldn’t have access to the inside of their house and there’s clearly nobody hanging out front at the moment. 

As he unlocks the front door and drops his bag down immediately, he notices something even more peculiar. Emily’s unmistakeable off-brand muddied combat boots are perched in their usual spot, indicating that she is very much home at the moment. But the car still doesn’t make any sense. 

Seeking answers, he heads directly to the girl’s bedroom adjacent to his before he processes anything else. He notices that the door isn’t fully closed and he bites the inside of his cheek. Without thinking, he pushes up the door with the palm of his hand merely an inch, just to peek inside to see if his sister is in there. 

The image he’s greeted with, however, is not a welcome one. And certainly not an expected one, for that matter. The shout that follows afterwards isn’t anticipated either.

“Derek?! Get out! Get the hell out of here!” 

xxx 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> poor derek :(( when will he catch a break? I love him so much


	22. he stumbled into faith and thought

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick update this week! Because for once i finally have some free time lol. Anyway get ready for some fuckinf ANGST these next few chapters (especially this one and the next one its gonna be so painful lol) but yeah here’s this. Uhh tw: sad. Thanks always to everyone who reads this dumb story and lets me know that you like it with your kind comments. I love reading what you guys think because it inspires me to keep writing! As always thanks to erin, kk, and noelle/Santa Claus for inspiring and motivating me to write and always hyping me up :’)  
> Ok enjoy the chapter !! Please comment if u like this  
> Oh! And if ur interested/wanna talk about CM my tumblr is @doctcrspencerreid !
> 
> Disclaimer: aspects of this work bear similarities to the separate publication “Patron Saint of Lost Causes”. the author of this work attributes the content in this chapter to the correct source (@themetaphorgirl). Publication of this work is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not replace the intellectual property of the above source. This work is intended for personal, non-commercial use only and the author attributes subsequently reproduced or reconstructed concepts to the original source, all rights reserved.

“What the hell is your problem?”

To say that Emily is pissed is an understatement. She’s positively fuming, and Derek has never witnessed her this livid before. Apart from the few times she grows confrontational whenever JJ or Penelope borrow her clothes without permission. But this is definitely a more serious offense than taking a shirt from her wardrobe. 

It doesn’t take long for the truth to come out, partially due to the fact that there’s not much to explain after he witnesses what he does. Elle, who Derek swore was still feuding with Emily, leaves in record time and he feels a stab of guilt when he sees the mascara tracks smeared down her face as she hurries out the front door. Emily pleads with her in hushed whispers, but the girl drives off anyway, leaving him alone with his infuriated sister. What he wouldn’t give to just take the last ten minutes of his life back and stop himself from ever pushing open that door. 

He feels guilty, but he can’t deny the fact that there’s a surge of unprecedented anger lingering just below the surface. Emily lying to them all, sneaking around, skipping school to make out with her friend; these are all pretty major offenses as well. It’s not like he’s completely in the wrong here, even if he knows he should have knocked before just opening the door. If Hotch were here he’d tell Derek to shut up, take a deep breath, and try to view things from Emily’s perspective as well. But he isn’t. It’s just Derek, Emily, and the palpable tension that hangs in the air between them, so thick that he could cut it with a knife.

“You’re not supposed to be here.” Emily grumbles, ebony eyes flickering with unchecked rage as she turns around to face him, her back to the front door that has just been slammed shut. Her arms are crossed over her chest, attempting to look intimidating despite the fact she stands a few inches below him in height. Her raven hair is unkempt and tousled, most likely from the amount of time she spent with Elle in the bedroom. He wondered just how long they had been in there before he unceremoniously barged in. It couldn’t have been more than an hour or so due to the fact that he had just seen her prior to the commencement of sixth hour. 

“You’re not either!” He countered her point with an indignant scoff at the accusation. Of course, even if he felt as though his reasoning was slightly more justified than hers, wasn’t like he could elaborate upon that. Doing so would reveal the secret he had been hiding so deliberately for months now and he couldn’t risk that. “Unless I suddenly missed the memo Hotch sent out about why it’s okay to skip seventh period to make out with your friends in our house!” He shot back sarcastically, although his tone was devoid of any humor. 

“Oh great, a lecture from Mr. Morality,” Emily spat, rolling her eyes at the notion. He could comprehend why she was pissed, but her impudent attitude only served to make him more enraged at his sister. It just felt like a betrayal of all their trust to catch her sneaking around with a girl she’s claimed she’s hated for weeks now. Not to mention the fact that her bedroom wasn’t just  _ her  _ bedroom; it also belonged to JJ and Penelope. What would have happened if one of them were to walk in on her and Elle rather than him? He knew his rationale wasn’t completely justified— hell, he had been obfuscating the truth for months now, but that was different in every sense. He didn’t ask for any of that. He didn’t choose for that to happen to him. “And why were  _ you _ skipping in the first place?” His sister implores, a single eyebrow arched inquisitively.

The question rubs him the wrong way, as it would to anybody. “That’s none of your business.” He mutters darkly, suddenly wishing he was standing literally anywhere else in that moment. He wasn’t the one on trial here. He wasn’t the one bringing girls back to the house without permission when nobody else was present. He glowers at her and moves to turn, wanting just to retreat into the solitude of his own room away from her, but Emily reaches out with lighting-like precision and wraps a hand around his wrist, tugging him backwards before he can get two steps away.

“Really? Cause I’m pretty sure you made it my business by barging in and upsetting my girlfriend!” She hisses, her grip tight around his wrist. He bristles at the unwanted touch, ripping his forearm out of her grip harshly. As if he wasn’t already pissed off enough, exhausted from one of the most traumatic afternoons of his life, and experiencing massive pre-performance anxiety from the immense pressure put on him by his team for that evening’s game. He didn’t need the added stress of dealing with the flood of emotions that coursed through his body at the roll of revulsion and mortification he experienced from just a single touch. He had endured having his fragile personal boundaries shattered enough that afternoon, he didn’t need to deal with that at home as well.

“Will you just fuck off?” He demands, surprising even himself with the blatant obscenity leaving his mouth. Emily falters at his shout, but her scowl remains intact. “I’m not the one whoreing myself out to everybody in the school!” He asserts, the words leaving his mouth before he can stop them. He knows that’s not the truth, or how he really feels for that matter. He knows that Emily isn’t an angel by any means, but she doesn’t trust easily and she wouldn’t allow someone to see her so vulnerable unless she really wanted them to. He knows that Mick was just a friend to her and that Elle is...clearly something more, but he can’t edit what he says. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t regret it when he watches as Emily’s expression morphs into something that he’s never truly seen her experience firsthand: hurt.

She sucks in a hitching breath, her glare dropping as she squeezes her eyes shut. It takes him a second to realize belatedly that she does this to ward off the chance of him seeing her cry. His heart stutters as the gravity of his words come back at him full force in the image of his older sister standing before him, the sensitive connection between them effectively severed. He’s screwed up before and she’s readily forgiven him, but he knows that this is different. He’s screwed up, more so than just pushing open a door. He’s really hurt her.

“Em, I-I’m sorry,” He manages to choke out, shocked to find out just how breathless he sounds. The seconds tick by, although they feel more like hours due to the intense silence that follows. “I didn’t mean—“ he rasps, but that’s as far as he gets in his brief apology. Within a mere instant, Emily is pushing past him. Literally. She shoves him back with a fierceness he only sees glimpses of from time to time, but admittedly isn’t too much of a fan when it’s directed at him. He stumbles, caught by surprise by the sudden movement. She doesn’t look up, doesn’t stop in her trek to her bedroom, doesn’t even make a sound apart from the slam of her bedroom door a second later. It resonates with unspoken finality throughout his mind.

_ You really fucked up this time, Morgan _ the voice in his head scoffs, but he barely registers it’s mocking tone above the ringing pulsating throughout his ears. The image of his sister so obviously affected by his insult flashes through his mind, stabbing his chest with immeasurable guilt by the second. A shaking hand reaches up to pass through his hair, but the trembling doesn’t feel like his own. In fact, he doesn’t feel like he’s inside of his own body even. It’s like he’s staring down at the empty vessel of this person he used to be able to call himself, silently judging as he distances himself further and further from the atrocities he faces in a silent reverie. He doesn’t want to hide, doesn’t want to say these things to the few people he loves and trusts, doesn’t even want to play football anymore. He just wants to run— to get away from it all, but mainly, to get away from himself.

So, that’s what he does. He doesn’t even realize he’s halfway down the block until a few moments later when the brisk late afternoon breeze is coursing through his tight lungs and exacerbating the lump left in his throat. His sneaker-clad feet pound the pavement with each step, but he can’t hear anything. He can’t even hear himself think.

He just runs, losing himself with each breath he takes. To where, he has no clue, but he knows that he can’t be in that house and hurt anybody else. They don’t deserve that. 

They don’t need him.

xxx

As he unlocks the front door and pushes his way inside, he has an eerie sense that something is just...wrong.

It’s honestly ingrained at this point, so he can’t exactly pinpoint how or why he’s inherited his freaky intuitive gift, but it tends to come in handy from time to time. Especially when something tends to be wrong but nobody is eager to fess up to the damage done, whether that be physical or emotional.

Like today, for instance.

He pockets his keys, waiting for JJ to straggle through the door with her backpack and gym bag in tow. It’s Friday, but not one of the cursed Fridays when both her and Derek have a game on the same date, so he’s made sure that everybody in their family (and some guests) are going to be present for Derek’s game tonight. He’s not entirely immune to hearing the rumors flying about the Falcons’ chances at making high school playoffs, but even if he were he’s caught an earful about just how vital tonight’s game is from Derek anyway. His brother has been on edge most of the week, constantly jittery with a combination of nerves and anticipation for their make-or-break game that evening, so Hotch put in a bit of extra effort to ensure that the kid would have a great cheering squad present in the stands. Well, aside from the cheerleaders that always seem to be hanging off of him and his teammates. Luckily, with JJ free from the responsibilities of her middle school soccer team that evening, their entire family will be present at the game, in addition to Rossi and Alex who readily agreed to attend the match.

“D’you think I have enough time to shower?” JJ mumbles, brushing one of her blonde strands that’s fallen loose from her ponytail out of her small face. Hotch, however, barely registers what she’s saying. He’s too distracted by the presence of Derek’s worn backpack resting by the front doorway, slanted to one side as if it were dropped there in a swift, effortless motion. Which, knowing Derek, it definitely has been. The only issue is that Derek’s bag definitely isn’t supposed to be there. Where it should be is with Derek. At school. Where he fully believed the kid to be up until that moment. 

The schedule for game days never alters much, considering the fact that it’s easily the most stressful evening for all of them whenever they’ve got to split up and tackle attending two different sports events in a single night. Every Friday for the last two months or so, Derek has stuck to his usual regime for the hectic afternoons. He’ll either stay at school immediately following the bell and attend one of the pick-up practices the team holds if they really need it, or he’ll hitch a ride with one of the upperclassmen on his team and hang out with them until they have to be back at the school. His schedule doesn’t involve a detour home, or any detours for that matter. He scowls, feeling the anxiety already rising in his chest at the peculiar sight. Yeah, something’s definitely off here.

“Hotch? What’s wrong?” JJ chirps, attempting to pull him from his introspective reverie. Reluctantly, he pulls his gaze away from the slumped over backpack, a frown pulling at the corners of his mouth. 

“Go shower, you have time.” He assures her, attempting to maintain an emotionless composure so he doesn’t raise any alarms in the process. It’s probably nothing, really. Derek could have just forgotten something and made the trek home on the bus in order to grab it, or he could have just decided to grab dinner with them rather than hanging out with one of his teammates prior to the start of their game.  _ That’s all it is  _ he muses to himself as he spares a quick scan over the abandoned living room and kitchen, not at all reassured by the sight of the empty house. 

_ If that’s all it is, why are you freaking out? _

He doesn’t bother answering the rhetorical question he poses to himself as he shuffles down the main hallway to reach their shared bedroom. Placing a tentative hand on the knob and turning it clockwise, he attempts to block out the sensation of his stomach churning as he does so. However, as he pushes the door open, he isn’t greeted with the reassuring sight of Derek reclining on his mattress with his muddy shoes kicked off beside his bed in a discarded heap. There’s no Derek rooting through the closet, frantically searching for a fresh shirt (probably one of Hotch’s) to steal because he neglected to do his laundry again and now he’s running late. There’s no Derek at all, which is not a comforting notion. 

He hears the bathroom door adjacent to their room click shut with a lock and his heart skips before he remembers that JJ is taking a shower and that it’s highly unlikely Derek is actually the one in there. His stomach sinks with the realization that his younger brother wouldn’t conceivably be anywhere else in the already limited space they maintain in their home and the truth he’s been in staunch denial of this entire time is staring him down unwaveringly. Derek is just gone, and something is definitely not right. 

It’s not like he hasn’t noticed the massive shift in his younger brother’s attitude over the last few months. He may have to balance a multitude of responsibilities every single day, but that doesn’t make him blind. Ever since that night way back in September when the kid basically had a full-breakdown in his arms, he’s kept his guard up and carefully constructed a heavy suit of armor in order to protect his already fragile emotional state. Hotch, while disapproving of his methods, partially felt at fault for his closed-off demeanor and brave it alone approach to life. It’s not like Hotch has been the perfect role model when it comes to emotional vulnerability, so why is he surprised that his brother has adopted the techniques he so frequently favors in order to deter the people close to him from noticing anything might be slightly off? 

He heaves a deep sigh, coursing an agitated hand through his hair in an attempt to ground himself. He was just about to sit down, take stock of his reality, and hopefully formulate a coherent plan of action when his ears perk up at the unmistakable sound of another door shutting in their secluded hallway. For just a moment he dismisses the noise as JJ, but the shower’s spray is still going and he doubts that she’d just let the water run without actually using it. Curiosity effectively piqued, he moves from the carpeted spot he’s been cemented to and hastens his departure from their bedroom, wondering if Derek could have been in the girl’s room for some reason. 

However, as he peeks his head out of the doorframe, his hypothesis is immediately proven incorrect as he catches a glimpse of Emily emerging from her room. His brow furrows at the sight, growing more confused by the second.

“Emily I- you’re here too?” He questions, realizing that he probably needs to do a better job of keeping track of his siblings if there’s this much mayhem. “What’s going on?” He demands, attempting to maintain an authoritative tone in order to coax an answer out of her. His sister regards him with a wary exhausted look, red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks staring right back at him like an image he can’t pull his gaze away from. Now he’s really perplexed. “Why are you-? Are you okay?” Aaron inquires, taking another step out of the threshold of his room and closer to his sister. 

She stands defensively, arms wrapped around her midsection in a grip so tight that the pads of her fingers are turning white. Her hair is slightly disheveled from what appears to be lying on one side for an extended period of time and her dark gaze is locked onto his bemused demeanor, searching his face for signs of recognition. When she speaks, it’s with a slight rasp that inadvertently highlights the fact that she’s clearly been crying for a while now.

“Why don’t you ask your brother?” She scoffs, even the sarcastic response scounding uncharacteristic in her tear-ridden voice. He doesn’t miss the way she refers to Derek as  _ his _ brother rather than his first name, but he dismisses it in favor of addressing the more present issue.

“If I could find him I would.” He counters, crossing his arms over his chest. It doesn’t take a genius to discern the possibilities of what’s happened here before he arrived— crying Emily, missing Derek, it’s evident that they clearly got into some sort of massive fight prior to his arrival with JJ. What’s most worrying, however, is the way Emily’s face falters at his response, seeming genuinely puzzled by his answer.

“He’s not here?” She questions, her eyebrows raising in surprise. That raises more alarms than he has the ability to address at the moment.

“No. He’s not.” Hotch reveals tightly, the tenseness in his shoulders and neck reaching a new level of agitated. “I need you to tell me what’s going on.” He orders, dropping any room for argument in his tone. Derek in such a destructive mindset was like a ticking time bomb to the rest of the world, and if Hotch knew anything by now it was that he needed to locate and talk the kid down before he did something irrational or dangerous in order to grasp onto the semblance of control in an otherwise precarious situation. 

Luckily, Emily hastily delves into the events of that afternoon, albeit a bit uncomfortably. His scowl deepens considerably at the mention of both her and Derek ditching seventh hour, but he attempts to keep himself focused on the main issue. That doesn’t mean his anger dissipates immediately when Emily reluctantly reveals what her and Elle had ditched school to do, but he can’t fixate on those details until he knows that Derek isn’t off getting himself into a world of trouble with his tendency for self-destructive behavior. None of the story sits right with him for that matter, and not just because two of his siblings that he places an immense amount of trust in (usually) have been sneaking behind his back and ditching school. What’s most disconcerting is when Emily informs him of what Derek had shouted at her before she shoved him. It just doesn’t make any sense to him. For as long as he’s known Derek, he’s never witnessed anything tantamount to what the kid’s been acting like for the last few months. In his mind, he had rationalized the behavior as simple hormonal issues, regarding his unprecedented anger and snappish remarks as nothing more than the result of teenage development. He knows now without a single doubt that he couldn’t have been more wrong. Something lingers just below the surface, holding on tight to his younger brother and enveloping him in a death-like grip that he can’t escape from. Especially not on his own.

He  _ knows  _ that this isn’t about him, but he still blames himself. He should have been better.

“But I thought he just went back to his room,” His sister admits, her voice shaking with trepidation. “I didn’t hear him leave or anything.” She adds and Hotch believes her, but it doesn’t help their current problem. She picks absentmindedly at the skin surrounding her nail, a clear indication of her guilt. 

“I have to go find him,” He asserts, knowing that time is very much of the essence in a situation like this. Emily worries her lower lip with her teeth, looking as if she’s on the fence about volunteering to go with him, but he immediately absolves her of the responsibility with a shake of his head. Besides, too many personalities crowding Derek in such a frenzied state would most likely just lead to the kid spiraling even further or lashing out. No, it’s better if it’s just him. “Just stay here and make sure JJ doesn’t run off too.” He ends up muttering sarcastically, although it comes out more biting than he intends it in his panic. However, before he can gauge an emotional response from his sister, he’s already making his way back to the front door.

The late afternoon breeze nips at his face as he fervently begins his trek down the street. He doesn’t even realize where his feet are instinctually taking him until he’s more than a block away from the house. It’s not confirmed whether Derek would head somewhere so predictable or not, but he has to exhaust all of his options before the panic overtakes and he ends up calling the police or the local hospitals to see if anybody’s seen the kid. It’s a bit extreme, but so is running away in a fit of rage and doing something impulsive or harmful because of a fight. Hotch doesn’t blame him though. Really, he just blames himself. He should have picked up on the signs earlier than this in order to avoid situations like this. He should have been better for the kid before he reached his proverbial breaking point. 

As his breathing picks up and he jogs the rest of the way to his destination, silently praying that Derek hasn’t wavered from his usual hiding spot, he makes himself a promise. He swears that he won’t let anything like this happen to the kid again. He won’t sit back in idle contemplation and miss the blatant signs occurring right in front of him. He won’t let his brother (or any of his siblings for that matter) feel so isolated and helpless that they feel as though they can’t turn to him for help.

It’s different this time. It’s not like it was with Sean. He won’t let it get there.

xxx

“Hey.”

The sheer relief that floods his body when he finally spots Derek perched up on the old, dilapidated jungle gym is unmatched. He’s able to let out the breath he was unaware he was even holding in as his sneakers sink into the wood chips that cover the ground. The kid looks absolutely miserable, leaning with his back up against one of the metal poles that make up the playground structure in the abandoned park. Hotch’s heart pulls at the sight, but he’s just relieved that the kid is predictable enough to trace back to a repeated location. If Derek wasn’t here… well, he doesn’t even want to think about what he’d do.

“Hey yourself.” Derek shoots back, his gaze remaining focused on what looks like a leaf he’s toying with in one hand. Idle fingers endlessly turn over the late fall leaf, absentmindedly playing with the item in order to distract himself from his present misfortunes. Hotch squints up at the kid through the afternoon sun, shielding part of his face with his right hand in order to see him.

“You planning on coming back to us anytime soon?” He questions, although the answer is clear. When Derek gets like this, it’s difficult to accurately gauge what his next steps are. Unlike Spencer or Penelope who always seem to follow a similar pattern when upset, his middle brother is slightly more unpredictable. The kid flips between distinct mentalities; either lashing out unbridled rage, agitation, and impulsive behavior, or retreating into the depths of his own mind and incessantly mulling over every single detail until he effectively destroys himself. Today seems to be the latter. 

When a pregnant pauses passes and his question remains unanswered, Hotch heaves a sigh and slowly begins his ascent up the climbing structure, the metal feeling unfamiliar underneath his feet. He used to take Derek here when they were younger to play football in the field together. Before Emily or Spencer or even JJ. Back when he was blithely unaware of the responsibilities he would one day shoulder without reprieve. They always ignored the play structure in favor of just tossing a ball back and forth, sometimes even roping a few other lingering kids into their game. The unprecedented memory causes him to smile fondly as he takes a seat next to his younger brother on the metal platform, both of their legs dangling off the edge of the jungle gym and swaying in the open air. The crisp scent of autumn lingers in the late afternoon air, the leaves scattering themselves across the sidewalk and wood chips as they dance along the breeze. He listens intently to the sound of the world around them until he finally realizes that Derek isn’t going to talk unless he switches gears.

“What’s wrong, kid? You can talk to me.” He offers gently, watching with bated breath as Derek’s head gradually raises from his downcast position. The kid looks drained, both physically and emotionally, to the highest degree. The bags under his eyes suddenly seem much more pronounced in the afternoon sun, a clear indicator of lost sleep over an extended period of time. Not only that, but he looks about two seconds away from tears, which is a foreign sight for his usual upbeat and optimistic outlook. Derek has always been the jester of their small family, finding humor in every crevice of his life. He possesses a unique ability to cheer anybody up around him, much in the same way Penelope did, which was probably why the two got along so well. But this wasn’t their Derek who always came equipped with a teasing remark or a well-meaning quip. It was almost as if he was observing a hollow shell of the kid, completely devoid of any emotion beyond perpetual despair. 

“I really messed up, Hotch,” his brother admits, tone wavering with emotion. Hotch can hear the rising lump in his throat and the tears just begging to spill over, but he remains silent in an attempt to encourage the kid to continue. “Like, really bad this time.” He adds. Aaron pulls a frown at the confession, unsure of whether or not he’s referring to his row with Emily or the obvious fact that he’s been struggling with his psyche for months. Going out on a limb, Hotch chooses to address the more recent events of that afternoon first.

“Hey, c’mon, it’s gonna be okay,” He soothes, using the same tone and cadence he would employ when calming Spencer down from the brink of panic whenever the youngest member of their family becomes too overwhelmed to function. “Emily’s gonna forgive you. You know how she is.” He adds for good measure, but Derek seems unconvinced. He squeezes his eyes shut, the effort from that movement alone just exhausting him further. 

“No, no. It’s- it’s not just that,” the kid mumbles dejectedly, letting his head fall back against one of the metal poles. “It’s  _ everything _ .” He supplies vaguely, the admission almost excruciating for him to get out. Hotch scowls at the nebulous statement. That doesn’t exactly give him a whole lot to go off of.

“What do you mean?” He pries. Reluctantly, Derek’s eyes open once more, but he doesn’t look up to meet Hotch’s gaze. Instead, he focuses loosely on the strings of his worn hoodie, wrapping one of the old zip-up sweatshirt’s drawstrings around his index finger in a spiral motion. He’s clearly attempting to dissociate himself from the conversation as much as possible, choosing to hone in on an insignificant object instead of answering an unpleasant question. Hotch, however, isn’t eager to let him off the hook just yet, and despite the fact that he really doesn’t want to cause the kid any further distress, he needs help. “Just talk to me. It’s just me.” Aaron pleads, hoping that the quiet desperation in his own voice is enough to snap Derek back to reality. 

It takes another tension-filled moment, but the kid eventually does tear his gaze away from the hoodie’s frayed drawstrings. “It’s—it’s like I’m…” He begins brokenly, his voice tapering off with uncertainty. “Like I’m, like I can’t—  _ fuck _ .” He swears, and Hotch lets the obscenity slide for once considering how emotionally volatile his brother is. He reaches up and rubs a hand across his eyes, squeezing them shut once more in order to stave off the lingering threat of tears. “Fuck, why can’t I just stop being such a—?” He mutters darkly, but Aaron cuts him off before he can continue that thought process. He’s been down that road a million times before, he doesn’t need to watch Derek get lost there as well. 

“Hey, hey, hey. Morgan, c’mon, don’t do that to yourself,” He chides rationally, scooting closer to bridge the impossible gap between them. Physically, they were sitting shoulder to shoulder, but emotionally they couldn’t be further apart. Derek had been drifting out to sea on a slow moving boat for months now, so why didn’t Hotch react until he watched the current take him? Why didn’t he intervene earlier? “You’re just one person, you can’t expect yourself to handle everything with the same maturity and balance an adult would. You’re just a kid.” He reminds him, gently reaching up to remove Derek’s trembling palm from his weary face. The kid noticeably flinches at the sudden touch and Hotch files that information away for later. 

“Yeah? Well so are you and you do the same thing to yourself. I know you do.” Derek scoffs, tone accusatory but brutally honest. Hotch pulls a frown, once again inadvertently reminded of the fact that he was setting the worst possible example for his siblings with his own tendency to stifle his emotions. 

“That’s different,” he immediately deflects, not wanting to deter Derek from discussing a much more prominent issue. “I’m the oldest, that’s my job,” he scoffs, bumping Derek’s shoulder with his own in a light-hearted attempt to show him he was joking. The kid exhales through his nose in a semi-laugh, but his eyes remain fixated on his hands which sit limply folded in his lap. “Just...say what’s on your mind, don’t think about it. Just speak.” He encourages, knowing that they can’t logically make any headway until Derek is able to open up to him. His brother twists his mouth into a tight line, clearly unsure of how to express anything beyond the outer limits of his comfort zone. Another moment of silence inches by and Hotch is just about to speak up once more when Derek clears his throat softly.

“I-I don’t- it’s just that I-,” he begins to stammer out in clipped, disjointed phrases, disregarding Hotch’s earlier advice about not thinking about it. Taking a risk, he places a firm hand on the kid’s shoulder, squeezing with gentle reassurance. Finally, Derek’s golden-brown orbs flicker up to meet his own gaze, rife with uncertainty and conflicting emotions. The pressure of Aaron’s hand on his shoulder seems to ground him, however, and he sucks in a deep inhalation before continuing, glancing back down to focus on his restless hands. “Okay. Okay, what’s on my mind,” he repeats listlessly, cracking one of his knuckles as he does so. “I, um, I fucked up. I said a bunch of stuff to Em I didn’t mean and now she probably hates me, and she should. I didn’t even realize what I was saying, but I definitely didn’t mean it or anything. I don’t even know where that came from. I was just so mad.” He admits with a heavy sigh, the self-deprecation coming out in full force as he confesses his guilt to Hotch. In an attempt to comfort him, Aaron ends up absentmindedly running his thumb across the length of the kid’s shoulder. Luckily, Derek doesn’t pull away at the touch with impudent protests.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he assures him, intentionally keeping his voice pitched low and gentle. “Emily can understand that and she doesn’t hate you,” He informs him, but Derek remains wholly unconvinced. He scoffs in disbelief, pushing one of his hands through his short, cropped hair. “She could  _ never  _ hate you, the same way you could never hate her,” He asserts firmly, hoping that his confident tone will convince Derek of the truth he’s so unwilling to accept. “What got you so mad in the first place?” He prompts, picking apart the boy’s confession in his head in order to get to the unpleasant aspects that Derek is so averse to reveal. The question seems to spur something in him and he volunteers an answer without a beat of hesitation. 

“Me,” He groans, using both of his hands to dig the heels of his palms into his tightly shut eyelids. “I-I can’t keep going on like this.” He mumbles, significantly softer in tone. He drags his hands down the length of his face, resting only when his fingers lie over his eye sockets and massaging agitated circles into the space between his brow-bone and eyelids. The statement is plenty concerning on its own, but coming from Derek makes it ten times worse. In nearly four and a half years of being his older brother, Hotch has never seen Derek so hopeless. It pains him to even spare a glance at the tense figure, but he doesn’t dare pull away due to his own apprehension. His brother needs him, so he’s staying right there.

“What do you mean?” He pries softly. Derek lets out a shuddering breath, removing his hands from his face before he speaks once more. 

“Like I have to...be somebody else,” he reveals carefully, choosing each word with marked precision. Hotch is well aware of the tactic— say just enough to seem like he’s telling the truth, but spare the details that he doesn’t want the rest of the world to see. However, he doesn’t want to impede upon the momentum the kid is gaining, so he remains silent in order to allow him to continue. 

“Like at school I have to put on this face and pretend like everything’s okay even when it’s all falling apart and I’m not strong enough to handle it,” Derek divulges. The confession is pained enough to be genuine, but Hotch doesn’t miss the way he only speaks with the vaguest of details in order to avoid spilling anything real. “I have to perform well on and off the field and I have to constantly show people that I deserve to be on the team as much as they do, because sometimes it  _ definitely  _ doesn’t feel that way,” he continues, snowballing into more of a rambling therapy session, probably supplying Aaron with an admission that he wasn’t even aware he needed to get off of his chest. 

“And then in class I have to show everyone that I’m not just some dumb jock who gets D’s cause he’s too stupid to think about anything but football. And I love you guys, I really do, but sometimes when I’m around Pen or Spence or you, I’m the dumbest guy in the room,” he sighs, shaking his head slightly at the notion. Although Hotch knows that his insecurities at school aren’t the only root of his problems, it’s still disconcerting to hear that he’s been struggling so much in the different aspects of his life. Derek seems to unconsciously pick up on Aaron’s growing guilt and speaks up once more in an attempt to assuage his fears. “I know you can’t help that obviously, but it just sucks to know that I can’t even do that right,” He adds, glaring down at his own hands with such intense resentment. The air falls still between them, a direct contrast to the obvious storm brewing inside of his brother’s mind. The kid sucks in a shuddering breath, preparing himself to speak once more, but when he manages to choke out a single syllable, it’s obvious that he’s about two seconds away from bursting into tears at the very thought of expressing his next point. “And I—  _ Jesus _ .” He stammers out, the lump finally rising in his throat to the point where it’s unavoidable to choke down or ignore. Hotch feels his brother’s breathing pick up into short, stilted gasps as he attempts to quell the tears threatening to spill over.

“It’s okay, I’m right here,” He soothes, extending his arm to wrap around the length of both of Derek’s shoulders rather than just the one. “Take your time.” He encourages, but the kid remains worryingly on the brink of hyperventilation. A few tears push past his steely defenses, running down his eyelashes and cheeks. He reaches up to wipe away the offending traces with the back of his hand, exhaling deeply as he does so.

“And sometimes I just think about what my Dad would say if he were still alive and if he could see me and I just…” the kid breaks off as a sob catches in his throat, interrupting his exhausted confession, but attempts to continue nonetheless. “I just...hate myself so much,” he whispers, pushing through the sob still building up behind his proverbial wall. The admission stabs Hotch right in the chest at hearing such an open declaration from one of the brightest, funniest kids he’s ever met, but he keeps his thoughts to himself, despite the fact that it’s killing him to hear Derek so upset. “He’d be so, so mad at me, Hotch. I’ve done some really dumb things,” The kid persists, squeezing his eyes shut so tightly that his face scrunches up with the movement. “I don’t want him to be mad.” He mumbles. And that’s the breaking point for him. The sob that’s been choking him quietly for the better part of their entire conversation bubbles over like boiling water left on a stovetop for far too long, and the cry rips through his chest like a primal urge. Hotch doesn’t hesitate to fully shatter the boundary between them, bringing his other arm around to wrap Derek into a full embrace. His heart aches as the kid muffles his sobs against Aaron’s neck, but he tries not to let his unmitigated concern show as he speaks in low, comforting tones.

“Okay, alright, it’s okay,” He soothes, rubbing soft circles into the kid’s heaving shoulders as he cries openly into Hotch’s arms. He knows it’s healthy for Derek to get his emotions out into the open, but his last few concerning sentences still linger in Hotch’s mind. Those weren’t the words of somebody merely worried about school or football or upsetting his sister from a fight. Those were the words of somebody who was deteriorating day by day, ripping himself apart with self-hatred and doubt until he just couldn’t take it anymore. The way his younger brother sobs isn’t just due to the fact that he feels pressure from his teammates or teachers, that’s the way somebody cries when they’ve exhausted all their options and even the premise of waking up to another day seems utterly pointless. He should know; it’s the exact way his mother used to cry. “Shh, you’re okay, kid. I know, shh, I know.” He murmurs softly, enveloping Derek so fiercely he fears the kid will pull away. However, Derek remains firmly rooted in his arms, curled up against him on that old playground structure where the rest of the world seems to be irrelevant to them. 

“Fuck, I-I’m sorry.” The kid manages to cough out through his panic, attempting to pull out of their hug. Hotch merely ignores his protests, keeping him wrapped up in his arms as tightly as possible without hurting him. Until Derek calms down he’s not willing to let him go, especially not in his current state.

“Don’t. Don’t apologize,” Hotch orders firmly, feeling another sob rip through his younger brother’s body. “Just let it out, there you go,” He prompts, only half-aware of what he’s saying as he courses a hand up and down the length of Derek’s muscular back, patting gently as the kid coughs into his neck. The kid stops his adamant writhing after a moment, his hair brushing up against Hotch’s jawline as he tucks his head back underneath the older boy’s chin. “Good job, kid.” He soothes plaintively, making sure Derek’s able to hear him over his soft cries. 

They remain that way for what feels like hours, but in reality is just a few minutes, until Derek’s sobs peter off into hitched sniffles, his breaths evening out as he calms himself down from self-induced panic. Convinced that the kid has finally fallen from his panicked state, Hotch finally allows him out of their embrace, squeezing his shoulder a bit as he pulls back.

The sight that greets him is absolutely unhinged. Even that first panic attack just a few months seems like a tiny rainfall in comparison to the absolute hurricane that’s just destroyed the kid. His face is tear-stained and snot-trailed, which he seems to become acutely aware of as he balls up his hoodie sleeve to wipe the remnants of his shame away. Hotch grimaces at the motion, but can’t protest as he doesn’t have a tissue to offer the younger boy. Derek slumps once more against the playground, all the fight leaving his body with a single breath. His sigh lingers in the air, intermingling with the autumn breeze as it cycles back into the atmosphere around them. 

Aaron allows a full minute to pass before he speaks up once more.

“You feeling any better?” He inquires, although the question is futile. Derek cracks an eye open from his temporary respite, regarding him with the faintest ghost of a sardonic smile.

“What do you think?” He scoffs, attempting for wit amidst the sea of emotions he’s attempting not to drown in. Hotch allows him a weary smile, although he’s not entirely sure joking is appropriate in their current situation. It doesn’t feel like it should be, but if it helps Derek cope he’s willing to try anything.

“I think you need to go home, drink some water, and get to bed early tonight.” He prescribes, answering Derek’s very much rhetorical question with the harsh truth. However, Derek isn’t too content to accept such a menial schedule. Especially considering the impending game at the high school that’s set to start in less than an hour.

“I’ve got a game,” He reminds Hotch ambivalently, although the statement seems to stir a realization in him as he speaks up, the reality of their situation finally settling it. “Shit. I’ve got a game.” He repeats, more to himself than anything. Spurred to action, he attempts in vain to push himself closer to the edge of the playground equipment, preparing to make the drop down from the jungle gym. Aaron frowns, curbing his momentary worry in order to hold an arm across Derek’s chest, holding him back. 

“I know, whoa, take it easy,” He warns, employing a bit of force in his forearm in order to deter Derek from taking off at a sprint. “You can take a night off, y’know. That’s what a Safety is for.” He points out bluntly, although he knows he’ll merely be ignored by the headstrong boy. When it comes to his position on the team, Derek isn’t just his usual stubborn self. He’s adamant about leading his team to victory and willing to sacrifice anything to do so; evidently, that also includes his mental health. The kid eats, sleeps, and breathes football and he has consistently ever since Hotch met him, but he doesn’t understand that taking care of himself tends to be just a little more important than the fate of the Falcons’ season or winning a national championship. 

“Yeah, right,” the kid scoffs, removing Hotch’s arm from across his chest with ease. “They sub Reynolds in for me and we lose harder than the Raiders lose every single game they’ve ever played,” he quips, rolling his eyes slightly at the notion. “I’ve got to go to this game, Hotch,” he asserts, retaining his formerly serious tone as he stares down his older brother with unwavering confidence. “If we don’t make it to playoffs—“ he begins, but Aaron interrupts him before he continues his worst-case scenario hypothetical. 

“I know, I know. But you can’t keep pushing yourself like this,” He cautions the younger boy, noticing how he immediately shies away from the prolonged eye contact as soon as Hotch presents his own counter argument. “If tonight is any indication, it’s obvious you need to slow down and take it easy,” He advises, making sure to emphasize the last three words of his statement to ensure they permeate the surface of Derek’s mind. “The weight of the world doesn’t rest on your shoulders.” Aaron admonishes light-heartedly, knowing how hypocritical that sounds coming from him. Derek seems to pick up on the irony in that statement as well and shoots him a small smile.

“I will. After tonight, I will.” He stipulates genuinely. “I promise.” He adds for good measure, supplying Hotch with a toothy grin that’s more reminiscent of the earnest kid he used to be. Before the sleepless nights and closed-off demeanors. Before the secrecy and standoffish manner. Before the breakdowns and fights. Back when he was just Derek and Hotch was just Aaron and nothing else had to matter.

With a reluctant sigh, he finally relents and gives his brother a solitary nod of approval.

“I’ll call Rossi,” He offers, sliding off the edge of the jungle gym platform and dropping the three or so feet down the wood chip-covered ground that waits below. Derek follows after a split second, landing clumsily and nearly tripping over his own shoes. Hotch reaches out to steady him, but before he can act the kid has already righted himself and brushes the remaining dust off of his hoodie and jeans. Hotch can’t help but notice how he’s nearly grown an inch taller, standing at almost the same height as Aaron does. “As long as you don’t mind breaking some traffic laws you should be there in time for warm-ups.” He reassures him, knowing very well that Rossi couldn’t obey traffic laws if it killed him (and it  _ definitely  _ would one day). Derek shoots him an appreciative grin, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets as they begin the slow trek back to their house across the street, walking in step with one another.

“Thanks, man. I appreciate it. And you.” He mumbles, suddenly bashful as he ducks his head to hide his face as he admits this. Hotch wants to sling an arm around the kid’s shoulders and pull him close once more, but he figures he’s exhausted his brother’s propensity for closeness enough that evening, and decides against it. 

“I know,” Aaron responds simply as they turn a corner, heading back onto the main sidewalk. “It’ll be okay, kid.” He admits vaguely, not feeling the need to explain himself any further than that. They slip into a contented silence as they walk home, the sun lingering low on the horizon behind them. 

_ ‘He’ll be okay _ ’ Hotch muses to himself silently. He’ll get to the bottom of whatever’s going on with the kid and fix it, no matter how long it took. He wouldn’t rest until Derek could too. That’s what older brothers were for, after all. 

He wouldn’t let Derek fall, but if he somehow did, Hotch would always be there to catch him.

xxx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So so sad :((( POOR DEREK AND HOTCH and also everybody else :(  
> Thanks so much for reading! Let me know what you think!


	23. vienna waits for you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hotch chapter. Call that a Chotch? Okay so here’s chapter 23! Some important scenes here and some good buildup to chapter 24 which was supposed to originally be a scene in chapter 23 but then it would have been like 15k words if I did that. ANYWAY thanks to everyone for your kind comments on my last chapter i love you guys so much :,) seriously so sweet. I hope you enjoy this chapter!!! Please comment what you think, I LOVE to hear from you guys! Thanks always to erin kk and noelle for inspiring and motivating me! Oh and if you wanna talk my tumblr is @doctcrspencerreid! Okay anyway enjoy the chapter!!!!
> 
> Disclaimer: aspects of this work bear similarities to the separate publication “Patron Saint of Lost Causes”. the author of this work attributes the content in this chapter to the correct source (@themetaphorgirl). Publication of this work is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not replace the intellectual property of the above source. This work is intended for personal, non-commercial use only and the author attributes subsequently reproduced or reconstructed concepts to the original source, all rights reserved.

The rest of the weekend crawls by at an agonizingly slow place. By the time Monday rolls around, Hotch is actually somewhat relieved to return to the monotonous cycle of classes. 

He tried his best to mitigate and control the situation to the best of his abilities, but unsurprisingly, he falls short in his attempts to do so. Unfortunately, there just happen to be certain aspects in life that he can’t seem to reign in despite his best efforts. Like two of his most stubborn siblings getting into a massive fight, for instance.

Following their draining discussion at the park on Friday afternoon, Hotch returns home with a subdued Derek in tow to find another nearly empty house. Emily leaves a hastily scrawled note on the kitchen table explaining to them in no uncertain terms that Elle’s swung by once more in order to pick her up. For Derek and JJ’s sake, Hotch swallows his rising anger at the situation and texts two messages out. One to Rossi to ask if he would be able to drive Derek, and one to Emily to let her know that they need to talk when she finally decides to come home. Well, that in itself proves to be another stumbling block because Emily replies with a curt explanation that she’s spending the night at Elle’s. He shelves the issue for the time being, realizing that there’s not much damage control he can do for a conflict if one of the participants isn’t present. 

He tries his best to push the issue from his mind later that evening as he, Rossi, Alex, Spencer, Penelope, and JJ all settle down in the bleachers to enjoy the game and support Derek, but he finds his intrusive thoughts returning to the subject a worrying amount of times throughout the game. He finally manages to concentrate more on the game when Rossi starts mocking him for his perpetual scowl, joking that Hotch could have just won the lottery and he would still look like he just witnessed a puppy being run over in the street. 

Saturday doesn’t fare much better, and neither does Sunday. Emily returns eventually, but she makes a very clear point of avoiding or ignoring Derek at all costs. The younger boy, still high off of his win on Friday night, uses similar tactics to circumvent even being in the same ten-foot radius as Emily. They step around each other like two cats on a street corner, shooting clandestine glares at once another across the kitchen table or just flat out disregarding anything the other person says. It’s incredibly petty and immature, but Hotch is shocked at their dedication in a way. However, he reaches his personal breaking point on Sunday evening when Emily asks JJ to ask Spencer to ask Derek if he would either ‘breathe through his nose like a normal person or quit breathing altogether’. Not only does he not enjoy seeing them fight with each other, both Derek and Emily have the most belligerent, headstrong, unwavering attitudes when it comes to holding grudges. He knows that if he doesn’t intervene now and try to diffuse the situation, they’ll continue on like that for months.

“I don’t care what he said to you or what you said to him, you guys sit here and work it out now! I’m sick of you two acting like children.” He orders furiously, pulling both Derek and Emily away in order to discuss privately. Well, as privately as possible with Spencer, Penelope, and JJ undoubtedly listening in from the next room.

“I’m not apologizing to him!” Emily shrieks, dark eyes flickering with contempt and fury. 

“Well I’m not apologizing to her!” Derek hisses, nostrils flaring with agitation.

“Fine!”

“Fine!”

“No, it’s not fine!” Hotch asserts, exasperated and entirely fed up with their appalling behavior. “You two figure it out and drop the dramatics!” He exclaims, rendering them both silent with his harsh tone. Emily falters for a half of a second, and just when he’s convinced that they're about to make even a modicum of progress, the girl huffs indignantly and storms out, slamming to the door shut without a hint of remorse for her actions. 

At that point, he has to throw in the towel. And not just because he’s got a test in pre-calc the next day that he desperately needs to study for. He knows his siblings better than the back of his hand; he knows with complete certainty that they’ll eventually put this past them and forget the ordeal entirely. Exactly how long that will take them, however, is what worries him. 

Monday is a welcome change to the unnecessarily stressful weekend, finally earning a well-deserved reprieve from the overwhelming hours he’s been picking up in order to make up for time lost due to his limited engagement in musical rehearsals. Not to mention the escape from the palpable tension that hangs in the air at home, suffocating them all whenever Emily and Derek are in close proximity. 

He slips into Gideon’s classroom as soon as his lunch period commences, desperately seeking a break from the usual chaos of the cafeteria and the loud chatter of other upperclassmen. The respite of sometimes taking lunch with his English teacher has become a weekly occurrence at this point, although Hotch wouldn’t readily admit that to anybody outside of Rossi. He appreciates Gideon’s company and insights, not to mention the fact that seeing his typically stringent teacher in such a relaxed manner is always somewhat amusing in a way.

“Hey.” He exhales, shutting the classroom door behind him as he enters. The chaotic atmosphere of the hallway during the passing period is muffled by the barrier, doing wonders already for his growing headache. Gideon barely glances up from the paper situated on his desk, deep frown lines decorating his face. 

“Hello, Aaron.” The man regards him with a solitary nod. Hotch slips his backpack off of his left shoulder, setting it down by his feet as he situates himself in one of the front desks. After the two had completed the hefty chore of completely clearing and reorganizing the bookshelves in the back corner of the classroom, Aaron had volunteered to help in other areas of the room in order to maintain a reason for him to be there during lunch. However, Gideon had adamantly refused needing help, merely telling Hotch that he was allowed to come back at any time for lunch or just to talk. So, that became their dynamic (as unconventional as it may be).

“You good?” He scoffs, gesturing towards the paper Gideon’s marking up with a scowl deeper than even Hotch’s own. The teacher heaves a sigh, capping his heavily used red pen as he does so.

“Just trying to grade one of the worst papers I’ve seen in my entire 25-year career.” The man groans with exhaustion, shoving the printed material to the side slightly. Hotch grimaces at the explanation.

“Let me guess: Rossi?” Hotch comments jokingly in an attempt to lighten the mood. It seems to work and Gideon cracks a weary smile as he removes his reading glasses from his face.

“Have a little more faith than that in your friend,” He admonishes lightly. Hotch leans down to dig through his backpack, pulling out one of the granola bars he always makes sure they’re stocked up on and an orange. “Although I’m sure Mr. Rossi’s would be an equal contender if he had bothered to actually turn in a paper.” Gideon quips, distaste evident in his tone despite the light-hearted tone. Hotch pulls a face, knowing very well that Rossi is at risk of failing the incredibly difficult class if he doesn’t pull his act together soon. Ever since Hotch prohibited him from copying major essays and projects (ignoring his claims of “changing it enough to trick Gideon”), Rossi hasn’t been faring too well in the grade department. 

“Yeah he’s been a little...uh,  _ busy _ lately, I guess.” He offers sheepishly. Yeah, if ‘busy’ means simultaneously flirting with both Carolyn Taylor and Hayden Montgomery, then Rossi has been extremely busy these past few weeks. At this point, Hotch is genuinely surprised that there’s not an “Ex-Girlfriend of David Rossi” support group at their school.

“And how about you? Up to anything momentous lately?” Gideon questions, switching gears as he pulls a Tupperware container from his desk along with a fork and some napkins. 

“Yeah. You could put it that way.” He mutters, an exasperated edge coming out in his tone as he responds. His irritation isn’t directed at Gideon’s inquiry, but more so at the inane situation he’s had to try (and fail) to properly handle all weekend. Not to mention the grueling ten-hour shifts he pulled on both Saturday and Sunday or the fact that Penelope nearly burnt the place down again during the process of making cupcakes. Even revisiting the hellish weekend in his mind sends a bolt of frustration throughout his body, scratching up against him like an uncomfortable sweater.

“How so?” Gideon counters, uncapping his Tupperware as he pours a small amount of dressing over his usual salad. “The pressures of stardom weighing you down already?” The older man jokes, but Hotch merely furrows his brow in confusion.

“Huh?” He shoots back, befuddlement evident in his expression. Then it hits him. “Ohhh, right. The musical,” He chuckles, wondering just how exhausted his mind must be to miss such a blatant point. “No, I’m actually onstage for about 2 scenes total. My sister is doing the lights and she said that she completely forgot I was in the show because I’m barely there.” He muses humorously, reflecting on Penelope’s joke. In all honesty, he’d preferred to be in zero scenes total. But, the show gives him more time with Haley after school and he’d take that any day, even if it meant that within a few weeks he’d have to get up onstage in front of an audience and make the biggest fool out of himself in history.

“Well, I’ll be sure to look out for you in your two scenes when I come see it.” Gideon chuckles, stabbing his fork into his salad mix as he does so. Hotch suddenly feels his heart skip a beat. Gideon is coming to see the show? Was it because of him?

_ ‘Don’t be stupid, Hotchner. It’s not all about you _ ’ the pesky voice lingering in the back of his mind warns, immediately shutting down the spike of adrenaline that courses through his body. Although he’d be lying if he said that the thought of somebody out in the audience actually there to support him (excluding his siblings and Rossi of course) didn’t intrigue him. 

“You’re uh, you’re seeing it?” He manages to stammer out, attempting to calm his rapidly beating heart. Gideon shoots him a quizzical look and he hastens to elaborate, not very willing to clue the highly perceptive man into his excitement at the prospect. “You just don’t seem like the musical theatre type is all. No offense or anything.” He adds quickly, figuring that’s a solid enough cover for his actual emotions.

“None taken,” Gideon assures him with a faint smile. “Admittedly, I’m not the biggest fan of the Broadway scene, but I do appreciate a well-composed score when I hear one and nobody writes it better than Gilbert and Sullivan.” The teacher reveals unabashedly, even when Hotch regards him with mild skepticism after his statement.

“Really? Is this your first time listening to music or something?” He retorts sarcastically, earning a genuine laugh from the older man. Hotch smiles at the reaction. If somebody had asked him at the start of term if he pictured himself in a position where he could make a biting remark at Gideon’s expense and get the man to actually laugh, he would’ve surely thought them clinically insane. But now, that was just his reality.

“Quite the contrary,” his English teacher corrects, still grinning brightly. “My wife was a Gilbert and Sullivan devotee so I suppose their work holds a special place in my heart,” He admits, his smile dimming from a beam to more of a subdued expression as he reflects on the memory with somber indulgence. “I will admit that I prefer Billy Joel over the Mikado any day though.” He adds thoughtfully, leaning back slightly in his desk chair. Hotch gives a pensive nod.

“I get that,” he agrees, putting his idle hands to work by peeling his orange. Although, whether picking nervously at the thick rind of the fruit with his thumbnail can be considered ‘peeling’ is beyond him. He has a tendency to fixate on minute details whenever uncomfortable subjects are brung up in a conversation. “My mom was a huge Rolling Stones fan. I don’t really get their music, but I kind of feel obligated to like them for her,” He confesses, startling even himself with the sudden flash of honest vulnerability. “Just so there’s this part of her that stays with me.” He elaborates, although it's abundantly clear that he doesn’t need to. He can gauge just from the way Gideon’s countenance falters with quiet empathy that the man understands beyond words. It’s comforting, in a way, to have somebody else read his mind for once.

“So, if it’s not the massive undertaking of playing such a vital role in a musical,” The man redirects teasingly, returning his gaze to his salad as he speaks. “What’s bothering you then?” He demands and Hotch heaves a sigh, unconsciously squeezing the orange grasped in his left hand a bit tighter as the question comes. 

“I, uh, it’s complicated.” He deflects, not exactly eager to open that can of worms just yet. Or ever. Gideon, however, isn’t so easily deterred. 

“And the rest of life isn’t?” The teacher points out wittily. Hotch shrugs lightly.

“It’s just family stuff. You wouldn’t understand.” He diverts once more, although the comment seems a bit more heavily connoted than he intended. Would the man take offense at that? He examined Gideon’s expression, fearful of how his excuse would be received, but the man barely seemed to acknowledge the statement beyond a bemused glance.

“Try me.” He challenges confidently and Hotch almost scoffs at the indignant reply. How could the man possibly understand what he was experiencing in his futile attempts to keep Emily and Derek from ripping each others’ heads off while attempting to act as the glue to hold their entire family together?

“Well, uh, alright. My brother— the football player, he’s gonna take your class next year-,” he interrupts himself just a few words into his frenzied explanation. Gideon merely nods encouragingly. “Right, so my brother isn’t doing too well I guess. He’s been acting weird since September at least but it’s just been getting worse and worse lately,” he reveals, keeping the details as nebulous as possible. Somehow, it just doesn’t feel morally appropriate to be discussing his younger brother’s personal life with his English teacher. “And then a few nights ago he got into a fight with Emily and ran off. It was just a huge mess. I found him and everything but, I don’t know, it’s difficult to explain, I guess,” He sighs, slumping down a bit further in his seat with the exhalation. Getting things off of his chest was virtually unheard of for him, so this was still a relatively foreign concept. “He needs help beyond what I can give him, but I don’t know how to find that for him or even convince him that he needs that.” He adds ruefully, noticing belatedly that his knee has been nervously bouncing to an anxious rhythm the whole time.

“He sounds about as stubborn as you are.” Gideon quips. Hotch laughs, but it comes out sounding more like a wheeze with how tight his chest has become over the last minute.

“Thanks,” He shoots back dryly, but when Gideon doesn’t interject again he realizes that he’s meant to keep talking. “But anyway, he’s just different now. It’s like he’s this entirely new person but I missed the moment that transformation happened because I was too occupied with everything else,” Hotch divulges, not missing the slight edge to his tone as he chides himself for being so dense in the first place. “So he’s just been pushing everyone away for weeks on end and I barely even noticed until the other gift when he finally broke.” He mutters, attempting to quell the insatiable urge to bounce his leg. Unsurprisingly, discussing his inner thoughts merely serves to make him more miserable in regards to the entire situation and he silently wishes he had never let Gideon know how poorly his weekend had gone. Of course, the odds that the man would be able to discern his actual emotions anyway were relatively high. The English teacher had an uncanny ability to spot the truth behind any lie, no matter how well-crafted.

“But by then you felt it was too late to intervene?” Gideon interjects, attempting to piece together the larger puzzle. Aaron nods, but then quickly corrects himself by shaking his head. 

“Yes? ...No? I don’t know,” He admits, sagging gently against his chair. “I just know he’s still hiding something even though he claims he’s not. No matter what he’s not gonna tell me on his own. He doesn’t handle his problems very well.” He concludes with dissatisfaction, well aware of the irony in that statement. Gideon considers him with a pensive look and Aaron suddenly gains a rejuvenated interest in his orange. Hotch really wasn’t prepared for a pseudo-therapy session in his English teacher’s classroom that afternoon. 

The silence between them hangs in the air like a heavy veil as Gideon digests and contemplates Aaron’s impromptu confession, his brow furrowed in heavy though. Hotch decides that he definitely doesn’t like being psychoanalyzed by any means and he’s just about to express this with vehement defensiveness when Gideon speaks up once more, his tone firm but gentle. 

“Let me ask you this,” he proposes and Aaron’s dark eyes snap up from the surface of his desk to meet his gaze. “If one of your siblings chose to, I don’t know, cheat on a math test, who would you blame?” He demands. Hotch almost rolls his eyes, immediately recognizing Gideon’s point with ease.

“They wouldn’t do that because I’d kill them first.” He quips sarcastically, using humor to deflect from the uncomfortable subject manner. Gideon, however, isn’t amused by his response.

“Answer the question, Aaron.” He instructs, his gaze unwavering. Hotch heaves a sigh, but relents nonetheless.

“Alright. I’d blame them for cheating even though they’re aware it’s wrong.” He replies monotonously seeing right through the man’s poorly constructed ruse.

“Okay, if one of your siblings chose to shoplift something who would you blame?” The man presses and Aaron audibly huffs at this, narrowing his gaze irritably. He doesn’t appreciate being condescended to.

“Yeah, alright. I get the point,” he snaps, a bit more harshly than he initially intends. “I can’t constantly hold myself accountable because of decisions other people make. I can pick up on context clues.” He asserts steadily, slightly offended at the notion that he’s dense enough to fall for such a simple trap. So what? What did it matter that he forced the brunt of the responsibility in the family unto himself? He was the oldest kid and had been there the longest, it was just inherently his job to do so. Besides, without his firm guidance things would surely fall apart like wet bread within a matter of seconds. It was just the way it had to be. He would exhaust himself to the bone before ever relinquishing his title of protector over his siblings. They needed him as much as he needed them, simple as that.

“I know you can, but that’s not why I’m asking you this,” Gideon assures him, suddenly donning a much more serious expression as he leans forward. “Aaron, listen to me,” He begins softly, the mention of his name being spoken so purposefully forcing his gaze upwards once more. He meets Gideon’s eyes and immediately notices the somber look, already knowing he was in for an unprecedented lecture. “You are a kid. I know you don’t see yourself as one, but you’re not any different from Emily or David or any of the other students in this classroom.” The older man reproaches. Hotch scoffs inwardly at that, having ample evidence to debate such an arbitrary point without even trying. He opens his mouth to protest, but Gideon merely ignores his attempted interception.

“The only difference between you and them is that you ostracize yourself from your peers by accepting an inane amount of responsibility that no sixteen-year-old should have to,” the teacher adds, then suddenly stops, his last sentence hanging in the atmosphere like a thick layer of smoke. When he speaks up again, his voice wavers with just the slightest hint of emotion. The sound alone causes Aaron’s stomach to sink. “But that’s not your fault. You’ve had to grow up much quicker than everybody else around you just to survive, and I’m sorry for that,” He sighs heavily, mouth twisting into an irreversible frown. Hotch wants to brush his apology away with indifference, but he can’t bring himself to speak. Instead, he willingly allows Gideon to continue, feeling trapped by the lack of oxygen circulating through his lungs as he listens.

“But throughout the struggles you face you’ve maintained your character and become a highly compassionate, sensitive young man and I commend you for that,” The man notes, his voice returning to its usual cadence as he regains his focus and takes a step back from the more emotional topic at hand. “So please, don’t tear yourself down and immediately berate any parenting decision you’ve ever made because one piece of the puzzle doesn’t fit perfectly,” He advises, regarding Aaron with a meaningful look. Hotch swallows and nods plaintively, although he doesn’t feel the motion in his body. “You’ll find a way to make it fit eventually, but forcing it without allowing yourself a single reprieve is just going to kill you quicker. Even if you plan everything out to a meticulous degree, you still can’t solve everyone's problems without first solving your own,” Gideon concludes, still holding Aaron’s gaze intently. Hotch merely allows the words to linger in the air before him, echoing throughout his mind before they cement themselves permanently in his memory. “Do you understand?” The older man questions, but Hotch barely registers the request. A pregnant pause passes before he realizes that he needs to speak now, despite the lump in his throat obstructing him from doing so. 

“I-I do.” He manages to stammer out, clearing his throat quietly afterwards. The weight of the lecture still sits on his chest, crushing him with its depth like he was stuck underneath a fallen tree. That was a lot to take in, especially for him.

“Good,” Gideon acquiesces. “But I suppose a more relevant question is can you accept that?” He asks, raising an eyebrow inquisitively. Hotch swallows once more, finally feeling the blood return to his pale face.

“I think...maybe one day I can.” He sighs truthfully, hesitating before he answers. It’s about as honest as he can get. There’s no way he can change overnight and completely reform the worldview he’s been carefully crafting since seventh grade, but there’s hope for another day, even if he can’t promise the results Gideon’s after.

“I’ll take it,” The man smiles faintly and Hotch finds the strength within himself to return the minuscule gesture. “He’s no Gilbert and Sullivan, but Billy Joel has a song that I think may pertain to you more than anybody I’ve ever met.” His English teacher suddenly redirects and Hotch furrows his brow, digging through his brain to remember a single title of a Billy Joel song.

“Uptown Girl?” He quips, well-aware that it’s highly unlikely that this would be the answer, but the humorous statement helps to calm his still racing heart. Gideon merely rolls his eyes, smiling softly.

“No, not Uptown Girl,” the man chuckles gently, shaking his head. “It’s a song called ‘Vienna’ and I think you may want to give it a listen sometime,” He reveals. Aaron nods, filing that information away for later. “The song has this lyric that goes: ‘you’re so ahead of yourself that you forgot what you need. though you can see when you’re wrong, you can’t always see when you’re right.’ and I think you ought to remember that,” he instructs well-meaningly, allowing his quote to permeate the surface of Hotch’s mind by pausing afterwards for a moment. “Among other things.” He adds hastily and Hotch furrows his brow at that.

“What other things?” He demands skeptically. 

“Like the fact that the bell just rang and you’re gonna be late if you don’t get going.” The teacher points out, deftly sweeping the trash from his lunch into a nearby waste-bin. At the sudden reminder of the time, Hotch nearly jumps out of his seat, essentially pulling himself from the hazy, strange trance he’s been trapped in for the last few minutes.

“Shit!” He swears, immediately realizing his mistake when he hears a quiet chuckle from Gideon at the obscenity. “Uh, sorry, I mean…” his voice trails off with uncertainty as he launches himself from his desk, but Gideon dismisses his apology with a wave of his hand, indicating that it’s not as big of a deal as Hotch perceives it to be. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” He concludes awkwardly, slinging his bag over his shoulder with ease and heading straight to the door. “Thank you again!” He calls, pulling the door open in one fluid movement.

He’s halfway down the hall and on his way to his next class when he realizes that ‘thank you  _ again _ ’ doesn’t make any sense considering he never explicitly thanked Gideon for anything in the first place. What was he even referring to? Was he thanking the man for letting him eat lunch in there once a week? For allowing him to ramble and rant about his insignificant problems? For agreeing to come see the musical, even if only out of appreciation for the awful music? Or was it for the way he completely altered everything about Aaron’s stringent self-guidelines, breaking apart every perception and completely reforming the way he was allowed to see himself?

Hotch wasn’t entirely sure of what he meant by that last sentence, but he knew that Gideon would understand nonetheless. He always did.

xxx

“Okay. I think we’re...in the clear.”

He observes with bated breath as she nimbly pushes open one of the heavy double doors more than partway, gesturing from him to follow into the darkened auditorium. He swallows dryly, but when he finds himself unable to move from the spot he’s cemented both of his feet too, she wraps her hand around his bony wrist and pulls him forward. The fluorescent light from the hallway fades away gradually as the door slips shut and before he knows it they’re entirely embraced by the perpetual darkness.

“Are you sure we should be doing this?” He mutters apprehensively, his eyes quickly adjusting to the room as she drags him forward still, guiding him down the series of steps that lead to the main stage. “Seems a little, I don’t know, illegal?” He scoffs, running his free hand through his hair. They reach the entrance to the stage itself and she squeezes his hand in order to let him know when to step up. He doesn’t inform her that by this point his eyesight has fully adjusted and he can make out the faint outline of the stairs. He prefers the feeling of her hand in his anyway.

“Illegal?” She repeats with amused disbelief. She briefly releases her grip on his hand and walks towards center-stage in order to flick on the strange lamp that sits there whenever the stage is not in use. He thinks he once heard Penelope call it a ghost-lamp but he isn’t too sure that’s correct. The light flickers to life and dimly illuminates the enclosed space, causing shadows of her figure to dance across the set wall behind her. “Aaron we’re just using the theatre for extra practice time, not breaking and entering.” She chides sarcastically, making her way back over to him as she does so. 

“Then why’d you have to pick the lock with your bobby pin to get us in here?” He shoots back, raising an eyebrow playfully as he teases her. Haley rolls her eyes, stepping up impossibly close to him and snakes her arms around his neck. One of her hands rests on the nape of his neck and absentmindedly courses through his hair, her feather-like touches sending chills down his spine. Instinctually, he wraps his arms around her waist, almost as if they were swaying to a slow dance without the music present. He can feel her heartbeat in time with his.

“Aaron?” She asks. He perks up.

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.” She quips, stretching up to place her lips against his. Which, to her credit, does effectively silence him. 

She stands at least six inches below him in height so he makes sure to lean down a bit as he returns the kiss, melting into her embrace. In the almost two months they’ve been dating they’ve had their fair share of make out sessions at both his and her house, but nothing quite like this. The idea of engaging in something like that on campus in a dimly lit, completely empty space is exhilarating to him. He’s even able to (somewhat) push past the trepidation of knowing that he’s broken at least three school rules in the last two minutes by being here, but he just can’t seem to care as much as he probably should. Maybe his rational thought is muddled by the overwhelming scent of her grapefruit shampoo that invades all of his senses at once. Maybe it’s the way she holds the back of his head as they embrace. Maybe it’s the fact that at any moment, a student or faculty member could just walk in and see them, but he can’t quite seem to care. Whatever it is, he likes it too much to stop anytime soon. 

Besides, today is really the only time he’d be able to do something like this without fear of being interrupted or caught red-handed. Thursdays are usually all-call rehearsals days, but with Ms. Brent absent from school due to illness, the meeting was called off and everybody was excused for the afternoon. Of course, while he saw this as an opportunity to call his manager and ask if he could come in to pick up a shift, Haley was more intrigued by the fact that there would be an entirely empty theatre that afternoon with nobody to interrupt them. It wasn’t difficult to tell who won that argument.

In addition to securing the ideal clandestine meeting space, he was comforted by the thought that all of his siblings seemed to have their own busy schedules that afternoon and wouldn’t need him home immediately to break up any fights or make dinner. Derek and JJ both had practice, Emily had work, Penelope had a yearbook meeting, and Derek had just informed him that morning that Spencer was tutoring somebody new in the library following the final bell so he wouldn’t have to worry about the kid getting home. It was almost as if everything had aligned perfectly for one blissful afternoon to allow him to forget the heap of responsibilities that constantly nagged at his mind. Instead, he could just be there with her, present in the moment as she pulled him close and he could taste her soft, sweet lips against his. For once, he could just be a normal teenager without having to worry about who was where or who was doing what or whether or not he’d have enough money from his next paycheck to support them.

He felt guilty for thinking it, but he revelled in the change of pace. He could just be there with his girlfriend and not think about anything else aside from the way her body felt so right against his. This definitely wasn’t something he was used to.

They remained in that position for what felt like hours, but was truly only a few minutes, until Haley pulled back, a soft smile on her lips as she exhaled. Wordlessly, she took his hand once more and pulled him further away from the dim glow of the ghost-light, leading him into one of the curtained wings backstage. There was a chaise lounge set piece used quite a few times throughout the duration of the show that they gravitated towards and before he knew it, she was leaning over him as they both reclined on the slightly uncomfortable prop sofa. It wasn’t ideal, but he let all of his apprehension fade away as soon as she began coursing her fingers through his mop of dark hair. Suddenly, he was relatively sure that he wouldn’t even remember his own name if asked. 

Not that he was complaining.

Neither of them were experts when it came to the field of dating or sexual experimentation, so they hadn’t gone much further than harmless making out in her room. Like him, she had a younger sister who was prone to walk in at inopportune times and catch them in the act, so when they were at each other’s respective homes they would make sure to keep it at least PG. But, even now when they were fully alone in an unsupervised setting, they didn’t bother progressing past first base. Overall, he was unaffected by this. He didn’t mind taking his time with working up to aspects of a relationship because he just wanted Haley to feel as comfortable and relaxed as possible with him. He had seen firsthand how ridiculously easy it was for two people in a relationship to be manipulated and abused and he never wanted Haley to experience that, especially with him. He would give her all the time in the world if it meant he got to spend just another second with her.

Their passionate kissing tapered off after about thirty or so minutes and the girl repositioned herself so that she was laying more to his side rather than on top of him. However, her head fell to rest right above his chest and he knew that she would be able to hear how rapidly his heart was beating inside the confines of his rib cage. He didn’t mind the vulnerability though. She was truly one of the only people he trusted enough to open up to in such a way. She exhaled deeply and they fell into a silent stupor, completely relaxed in each other’s arms. It was nice— no, it was better than nice. It was transcendent. 

They remained in a companionable silence for a few more minutes before she spoke up once more, the melody of her soft voice soothing in his ear.

“Do you ever think about growing up and getting married and stuff?” She asks with a contented sigh. 

Suddenly, her voice isn’t so soothing anymore.

“I- uh, I…” He stammers, knowing that with her position against his chest she can definitely feel his heart stop and his breath stall in his lungs. What kind of question was that? What was she trying to insinuate? And why was his face suddenly burning up? “I—what? We’re sixteen.” He finally chokes out, slightly coherently despite his rising panic. He feels Haley snort in laughter, slapping her hand against his chest playfully.

“Not to each other, silly,” She chides and Aaron suddenly feels his lungs relax at her reassurance. “I just mean in general.” She prompts, although that’s not exactly comforting by any means. In all honesty, he’s never considered concepts beyond his airtight five-year plan to secure himself and his siblings a life following their graduation and gradual aging out of the foster system. He hasn’t had the luxury to stop and take stock of what his life would look like after college because every single day of his life is an ordeal of survival. He has to fight tooth and claw to get himself and his siblings the same opportunities that other kids receive naturally, he can’t concentrate on frivolous issues way beyond the scope of his current view.

“I mean, not really,” he admits, furrowing his brow slightly. “I don’t really have time to think about that kind of thing.” He reveals to her truthfully, trying to sound as impartial as possible. He doesn’t want her to perceive his indifference as resentment towards her.

Haley merely perks up, lifting her head from his chest and meeting his steely gaze with a breed of youthful optimism he usually only sees in the eyes of Spencer or Penelope. Her blonde waves spill around her delicate features, framing her face in the dim lighting of the backstage area.

“Okay, close your eyes.” She orders curtly, a ghost of a smile crossing her lips. He raises both eyebrows dubiously, regarding her with mild skepticism. 

“Hale, I’m not gonna—“ he begins with a slight groan, but she cuts him off before he can protest any further. 

“I’m serious!” She asserts, giggling softly. He all but melts at the sound. “Close them, or I’ll make sure you close them” She threatens light-heartedly and he chuckles at her insistence. 

“Okay, okay,” He finally relents, gently shutting his eyes and blocking out the image of his girlfriend perched over him. “Psychopath.” He adds teasingly. He doesn’t have to be able to see to know that she’s sticking her tongue out at him. 

“Alright, picture yourself in ten years. What do you see?” She inquires curiously. If his eyes were open right now he would surely be rolling them at the question. What does he see? Nothing. The darkness of his shut eyelids. The phosphenes of color swirling against an eigengrau background. Absolutely nothing.

“This is so—“ he mutters, but doesn’t get any further than that in his statement.

“Aaron, I will smack you right now, don’t think I won’t.” She threatens, and although he can hear the smile in her voice, he knows she’s not messing around. Besides, if it’s important to her, it should be important to him as well. So, against his better judgement, he reluctantly attempts to conjure up a sufficient enough answer to appease the determined girl.

“Alright I, uh, I guess...I see a house?” He acquiesces, beginning hesitantly. The whole scenario gives him eerie vibes, especially considering their setting, but he continues nonetheless. “A moderate-sized one with two stories and a big backyard I guess.” He adds realistically. Yeah, that would be nice. If he could ever afford something like that he’d definitely want to have a spare room or two for his siblings to stay over whenever they wanted. Plus, he had never owned a dog in his entire life, but had always secretly yearned for one. If one day he had the opportunity to own a house he would definitely make sure that his future kids had a dog and a backyard to play in. 

“What do you do for work?” Haley questions, her voice barely above a whisper. He almost cracks an eye open, but decides against it.

“Ten years from now? I’m an associate at a law firm. I’m going to be a defense attorney,” He elaborates. Suddenly, he feels the weighted pressure of her head above his heart once more. She nods against him in silent agreement. “And I guess that there’s somebody else there with me,” He continues hesitantly, a knowing smirk crossing his face. “A girl. Blonde hair, blue eyes. I think her name rhymes with...Scaly Hooks?” He quips, his grin spreading a bit wider as he feel’s Haley’s head leave his chest abruptly.

“Oh, shut up!” She chuckles, swatting his chest once more with her palm. He hesitantly opens his eyes, adjusting once more to the dark backstage area as he does so. Haley beams down at him, brushing a lock of blonde hair behind her ear. He tries not to notice the quiver of her hand.

“I’m serious!” He protests, scooting up slightly so he’s more in a sitting position than reclining on the chaise. “How can I lie about  _ my  _ ten years in the future scenario?” He points out, still grinning softly. He’s sure that if somebody were to tally up all the times he’s smiled in his lifetime before September, the total would be nowhere near the amount of times he’s found himself laughing or beaming when he’s in Haley’s presence. She just has that effect over him. 

“You wouldn’t want me there.” She counters pragmatically, which is ironic considering she was the one who proposed this exercise in the first place. 

“And why wouldn’t I?” He retorts playfully, leaning in to kiss her once more as his hand reaches up to cup the side of her face. Haley, however, pulls back slightly with a frown.

“You’ve got your whole plan mapped out without any distractions,” She points out ardently, her tone suddenly turning rather despondent. “You don’t have time for me goofing around.” The girl adds, causing Hotch to frown. Where did this come from? 

Eager to reassure her of her place in his life, he runs the pad of his thumb along the skin of her freckled cheek. “That’s the best part though,” He insists, injecting as much emphasis into his tone as possible. “Is that you’re there too.” He adds, but his girlfriend still remains suspiciously unconvinced at his answer. 

“So?” She counters, barely making eye contact. He sighs, removing his hand from her delicate cheek and instead using it to take one of her hands in a comforting manner. He reaches up and grabs the other, squeezing softly before he speaks.

“So we could run away right now to California or Mississippi or wherever and live on the road for the rest of our lives and I wouldn’t care about sleeping in a truck as long as you were there with me,” he began, the words tumbling from his lips with surprising ease. Haley finally glances up, meeting his gaze with her aquamarine stare. “Because I don’t break into theatres or dance or make out with girls on prop sofas,” He continues, eliciting a soft chuckle from the girl as he references their current position. He squeezes her hands once more, hoping the gesture seems reassuring. “But you make me want to do these things.  _ You _ make me want to open up and be a better person, not anybody else. So of course I want you in my life for as long as I can have you there. You make me better without even having to try.” He confesses with complete candor. 

A month ago, the concept of being so emotionally vulnerable with another person would have terrified him; but that was just a prime example of the way Haley took his life in her hands and entirely reformed it with just a few kind touches and soft looks. That was how she made him better. She didn’t accept stilted reassurances of ‘I’m fine’ when he was clearly upset. She didn’t allow him to wallow in self-deprecating thoughts whenever something got screwed up. She was this beacon of everlasting light that shone for him in the perpetual darkness of uncertainty, guiding his path for him as he muddled his way through the harshness of reality. She wasn’t just an option— she was the only option.

Spurred by his words of honesty, the girl pushes herself forward until he can feel her breath on his lips once more. They hold that position for a few moments before she pulls away, the taste of her vanilla-scented lip balm left on his mouth.

“Why a truck?” She giggles slightly, removing her hands from his grasp to brush her hair from her face. 

“Seemed like the most practical option for living on the road.” He responds, surprised that she chose to fixate on such an insignificant detail from his speech.

“Not an RV?” She counters, raising one of her eyebrows inquisitively.

“Too much of a hassle to park.” He reveals without missing a beat, a teasing smirk crossing his face. She rolls her eyes at the simple response, but he can tell that she found it endearing.

“You’re an idiot, you know that?” She snorts, dropping her head to rest on his broad shoulder. Her hair tickles his neck and the corner of the sofa presses uncomfortably into his back, but he doesn’t dare move a muscle. He wants to stay right there for the rest of eternity with her, blocking out the rest of the world with quiet ignorance until it all dissipated into nothingness. 

Unfortunately, that could never be the case. 

Their comfortable reverie was rudely interrupted by a harsh buzzing. At first he believes it’s just Haley’s phone going off with one of her thousands of notifications, but when she doesn’t move to extract the object from her pocket, he realizes that the sound is coming from his jeans. Which isn't a reassuring thought at all.

“Sorry, hold on,” He sighs, shifting slightly to remove the woefully outdated flip phone from his front pocket. “That’s weird. This thing is only for emergencies.” He mutters, squinting in the darkness as he flips open the front of his cheap cellphone. The screen informs him of a text message from a number he immediately recognizes as Alex’s. Not a great sign.

His eyes rapidly scan the quick message. He tries not to let his heart sink as he does so, but Haley picks up on his abrupt shift in behavior anyway. He supposes it’s not difficult to do so from the way his face pales as soon as he comprehends the contents of the text he’s just received.

Yeah, this is not good. Not good at all. 

“What’s wrong?” His girlfriend prompts, removing her head from his shoulder. He chews his lower lip, already knowing that their afternoon alone has to be cut short.

“It’s uh, it’s Alex,” He divulges, immediately noticing the way his knee begins to bounce nervously below him. His stomach feels as though it’s nothing more than a black hole, eager to envelop him in his growing anxiety. “She says she can’t find Spencer anywhere and she’s worried,” he adds, hearing Haley rustle beside him. He can’t bring himself to look at her or meet her gaze, but he attempts to elaborate for her sake. “Derek told me he was supposed to be tutoring somebody in the library but Alex just says he’s not there…” his voice trails off with anxious uncertainty, a million scenarios immediately running through his mind at full speed. He registers Haley’s soft hand graze his shoulder in a comforting manner, but just barely. Suddenly, the walls feel as though they’re closing in once more and he has to get out before he’s crushed. 

“Shit,” he mutters, forcing himself up from his sitting position and pocketing his cell with ease. “I-I’m sorry, I have to go. I have to find him, something’s wrong.” He informs her frantically, agitatedly coursing his hands through his hair in order to ground himself. He knows to the untrained eye that his ensuing panic could be considered paranoid, but when it comes to his youngest brother, the word ceases to exist. The kid’s missing and with nobody around to look out for him, anything could happen.

He won’t let anything happen to his brother. Not again. Not after he promised.

“Aaron—“ Haley interjects, but he doesn’t allow her to finish.

“I-I’m sorry. I have to.” He explains, hoping she’ll understand. However, when he turns to face her, he’s not met with cold disappointment or raging fury. Her eyes are soft and sympathetic, providing him with a sense of comfort that allows him to finally calm down and regulate his breathing. She reaches out and grabs a hold of his hand, squeezing tightly, just as he had done to her minutes prior. Suddenly, he’s back on the ground and she’s standing right by him, not letting go.

“I’m coming with you.” She asserts defiantly, unwavering in her decision. He pauses for a moment, considering the depth of her statement. She’s coming with him, everything's going to be okay. She’s coming with him and they’ll find Spencer and he won’t let anything bad happen to the kid. She’s coming with him.

“Let’s go.” He breathes with determination. And they’re off. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Insert sad music here :((( guys chapter 24 is gonna hurt so much u have no idea.... ANYWAY if you liked this leave a comment down below with what u thought !! Thanks for reading!!


	24. hard to see the light now (just don’t let it go)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> major tw: language, physical bullying, assault
> 
> thanks always to everyone who reads, everyone who comments, and noelle, kk, erin, (and now rachel!) for inspiring me and motivating me to write 
> 
> my tumblr is @doctcrspencerreid
> 
> xxx
> 
> Disclaimer: aspects of this work bear similarities to the separate publication “Patron Saint of Lost Causes”. the author of this work attributes the content in this chapter to the correct source (@themetaphorgirl). Publication of this work is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not replace the intellectual property of the above source. This work is intended for personal, non-commercial use only and the author attributes subsequently reproduced or reconstructed concepts to the original source, all rights reserved.

The tension doesn’t fade.

Not that he expected it to, but it’s still unsettling to see it up close and in such an indiscreet manner. 

It’s not unusual for any of them to bicker or fight over seemingly insignificant issues from time to time, but this is different. The anger resonates throughout the tight confines, suffocating and inescapable every evening for the past few days. He does his best to follow Hotch’s sage advice and ignore the details of the conflict that don’t pertain to him, but it’s a bit difficult to do so when everybody in the family seems to be content to pick sides and formulate their own distinct opinions.

Derek yells. Emily yells. Hotch yells at them both. Penelope defends Derek. JJ defends Emily. Hotch snaps at them for getting involved. It’s the biggest mess he’s seen in recent years and he just wants it all to end. He’s sick of hearing Derek and Hotch’s hushed conversations from the other side of the room when he pretends to be asleep in the middle of the night. He’s sick of Emily’s passive-aggressive tendencies and harsh glares at anybody who even looks at her the wrong way. He’s sick of Derek intentionally staying out as late as possible each night and returning home sullen and agitated, snapping at Spencer for minor offenses such as not picking up his socks or making his bed every morning (like Derek does  _ any _ of that on a regular basis). He’s sick of Emily picking up extra shifts at work all week because of her claims that she can’t even be in the same room as Derek. He’s sick of the clipped tones, the awkward tension-filled dinners, and the feeling of being torn between two of the people he loves most in the world.

He’s just sick of it all.

His week doesn’t fare much better anyway. His days pass in an inconsequential blur for the most part. He follows his same stringent routine, but it feels as though he’s wading through uncharted waters where the sunlight can’t permeate. Although, being eleven in a high school has always felt like that. 

To his close friend’s credit, Alex tries her best to cheer him up during their daily hangouts, but he doesn’t manage more than a stiff smile at every joke she attempts to tell. Hotch, more on edge than usual, stretches himself in every direction possible and Spencer rarely sees him all week, merely adding to his growing disappointment. Derek and Emily all but ignore him, wrapped up in their own separate worlds and maelstrom of emotions. Penelope and JJ are pleasant enough, but it all feels so disingenuine at the moment. As if a single gust of wind could knock over the tenuous foundation they’ve constructed, reducing them all to nothing but dust in the mid-November breeze. 

By the time Thursday rolls around he’s absolutely exhausted and the thought of dragging himself through another full day of school makes a deep sea dive with sharks seem far more preferable. Still, his options are severely limited (and it’s not like he has a choice in the matter) so he forces himself out of bed that morning with weary reluctance and dresses in his worn, second-hand winter clothes. 

Their funds have been tight as of late due to the fact that inauthentic Mexican restaurants in central Virginia aren’t exactly in demand year-round and Hotch’s tips deplete severely during the winter months. But he doesn’t complain when the bitter wind whips his face and freezes the tips of his ears and he tries not to mind when his lightweight hoodie protects him little from the chilled air. Hotch offers him his own sweatshirt almost every morning without fail, but Spencer knows that if he accepts the warm garment then that leaves Hotch with nothing to fend off the winter chill aside from his makeshift double-layered long sleeve shirt. So, he keeps his mouth shut and zips his hoodie up as tight as possible during their brief walk to the bus stop. He can tough it out for a few more months.

Both first and second periods drag by with inescapable monotony. He even finds himself dozing off right in the middle of his APUSH lecture, much to his teacher’s chagrin and the rest of his classmates’ amusement. In fact, he’s convinced that the rest of his day is going to be an exhausting repeat of the last three until he can finally return home and curl up with one of the new books Hotch has borrowed for him from his English teacher’s library. That is until he receives an unexpected tap on his shoulder right before third period commences and he nearly jumps out of his skin at the sight of who greets him.

He’s standing outside of the front doors to the library, eagerly waiting for Derek to arrive so that they can head to study hall together and take their usual seats. It’s the same routine, same configuration, same schedule as always. The gentle warmth of the mid-morning sun provides him with some reprieve from the still biting chill, but he doesn’t find himself absolutely shaking like a leaf anymore. He’s just about to head into the glass double doors of the school library and just set up for study hall without Derek when he feels the seemingly innocuous tap on his shoulder. Fully expecting it to be his older brother, he turns around ready to joke with the older boy about his abysmal punctuality, but he doesn’t get the chance. In fact, he doesn’t even manage to get a word out before his heart leaps into his throat and silences him. Because standing before him is not Derek or anybody he would ever expect to see tapping him on the shoulder before third period study hall. 

It’s Harper Hillman. Alone. Standing right before him. 

“Hey Spence, how’s it going?” She chirps excitedly, her hazel eyes sparkling with unabashed cheerfulness. He should be used to hearing his name leave her mouth by now, but the concept of her perceiving him as an actual human being is still way beyond the scope of his imagination. Every single time (of the two) he’s been approached by Harper and Alexa has sent him reeling for days afterwards, his head spinning so rapidly that he’s sure it shatters the laws of physics in some manner. He knows that he should be keeping his guard up around the older kids at their school no matter what, especially considering the endless tormenting he’s suffered since his freshman year, but he can’t seem to employ rational thinking tactics whenever he’s in their presence. It’s almost as if eleven years of hypervigilance and and honed survival skills fly out the window every time he’s within a ten foot radius of one of them. 

“I- uh, I—“ He stammers unintelligibly, tripping over his own words. She takes a step closer and he wills her not to, terrified she’ll hear the intense pounding of his heart against his ribcage. However, she merely giggles, brushing a lock of perfectly styled brunette hair from her face.

“Alexa told Lena to tell me to tell  _ you _ that she wants you to meet her on the track field after seventh today.” Harper reveals, an innocent smile painted on her face as she delivers the message. 

He almost loses his breakfast right there.

Alexa Lisbon wants him to meet her? Alexa Lisbon actually wants that? Is she sure she’s referring to the right Spencer? How many Spencers at Madison Heights could there possibly be? Factoring in the statistics of the name’s popularity in the 21st century, the origins and intended demographic for the name, and the prevalence of the name in Virginia over the last 15-16 years, that would essentially equate to—

“So?” Harper prompts impatiently, ripping him from his silent reverie. His eyes dart back up rapidly to meet hers, startled by the sudden question.

“Uh, I- well… I um…”

“Perfect!” She interjects his incoherent rambling with a bright grin. “She’ll meet you out there at 3 today.” Harper informs pleasantly, pulling her phone out from one of her pockets to text a frenzied message. She turns on her heel and is just about to walk away when Spencer’s voice finally returns to him and he’s able to choke out a few syllables that don’t sound like absolute nonsense.

“J-just me and her?” Her stammers tentatively. He’s shaking once more, but he’s sure it’s not from the cold. Harper’s features soften as she grants him a sweet smile, the corners of her lips upturning to show her perfectly straight teeth. If he already didn’t have the biggest crush on Alexa Lisbon, he’s relatively sure that Harper wouldn’t be too far off. 

“Just you and her.” She parrots. There’s something amiss in her tone as she reassures him with that vague statement, but he doesn’t get the chance to question it before she’s turning and flouncing away, thumbs typing rapidly on the screen of her phone. The remnants of her signature perfume lingering behind, physical evidence that she really was just standing right in front of him and that he hadn’t hallucinated the whole event. 

As he finally reaches out to push open the heavy double doors that lead into the school’s main library entrance, he finds himself involuntarily repeating every phrase of the conversation in his mind like a broken record. Alexa Lisbon wants to see  _ him _ after school for some reason. Not anybody else, not any of the estimated 1,322 Spencers that reside in the Virginia area—  _ him. _ The thought alone causes his chest to constrict with pure elation, excitement bubbling over from every area of his body, sending tingles down his spine and to the tips of his fingers. 

As he takes his seat at the usual table he shares with Derek, pleasantly surprised to find his older brother already situated inside with his geometry textbook open, he can’t wipe the grin off of his face, try as he might.

He knows he should be cautious when it comes to involvement with the upperclassmen. He knows that better than anyone else on campus at this point. But there’s something so innocent about the way they’ve interacted with him in comparison to the rest of the school, excluding his siblings and Alex. He knows that he should be skeptical of the kind words and abrupt interactions, but how could something so seemingly innocuous be so wrong? It wasn’t like the way his classmates glared at the back of his head whenever he spoke over them in class (which he had been working on not doing lately, honestly) or the way that Jack Dern and Kyle Moore sought him out specifically to make his life a living hell at Madison Heights. The way Harper and Alexa had spoken to him had been so unlike any other treatment he had received in the year and a half he had attended Madison Heights, what was so wrong with believing them?

If he hadn’t conversed with Alex so openly that day in September so long ago then he never would have become friends with her.  _ She _ was an upperclassman who seemed to enjoy his company, why couldn’t there be others?

But Alex had warned him first of the impending dangers of trusting so openly. She had been the one to point out that other’s intentions may not always align with what they appear to be at first. Alex had witnessed that second interaction in the library just a few weeks prior and had made her opinions on the subject abundantly clear. He knew that the older girl was just attempting to look out for him, but sometimes, he just wanted to handle his life on his own terms, away from the scrutiny and protective eye of every person in his world. 

The self-sufficiency he had acquired prior to being placed in his current foster home still remained deeply ingrained in his psyche. He wasn’t weak, helpless, or pathetic as his father had suggested when he was much younger. He had proved that to everybody in his life by advancing so quickly in his studies and developing a mature outlook on life that no other kid his age could counter. He appreciated his friend’s and sibling’s concerns on the matter, but he wasn’t some hopeless burden that couldn’t look out for himself or discern people’s intentions. He could do this and he could prove to Alex, Derek, Hotch and anybody else that they were wrong about the situation. They were wrong about Alexa and Harper. They were wrong about him.

Maybe that was why he skillfully crafted a believable lie for Derek to inform Hotch that he’d be tutoring a new student in his chemistry class that afternoon in the library, instead of revealing where he’d actually be going. He knew that his headstrong brother would only try to dissuade him or get others involved, spouting nonsensical advice about the comparison of girls at school to sandwiches or the like. He knew that he wouldn’t get the chance to ever see Alexa one on one if he let anybody else in on his actual plans. They would shut him down in the blink of an eye, repeating to him the myriad of reasons why no girl such as Alexa Lisbon would ever really want to see him without some ulterior motive to humiliate him. All they would do is remind him of just how out of place he was in school, bringing home the fact that he truly didn’t belong.

Well, he’d show them that afternoon after he finally got to be alone with Alexa Lisbon. He’d prove them wrong and they’d never doubt him again. He was sure of it.

xxx 

“Hey Spence!”

The sudden use of his nickname forces him to tear his gaze away from the ground, his eyes having been focused primarily on the worn path that leads down to the school’s track as he gradually made his way over to the secluded area of campus. He had never been forced into the dreaded requirement of physical education classes so he wasn’t entirely sure of where the track field actually was, but he had worked up the gall to ask his chemistry teacher immediately following the final bell where he could find the school’s track. She had directed him as best as she could, but he still ended up losing his way despite their school’s average-sized campus. After a brief detour he had evidently turned up at the right place, but not after several minutes of internal berating for possibly being late and making Alexa wait on him. He was doubtful that Alexa would even be there in the first place, but once more he was proven wrong as he stumbles down the slight hill at the sound of her voice.

She’s alone, perched on one of the bleacher seats, looking like an angel illuminated in the early afternoon sun. He nearly feels his knees give way at the sight.

He’s been flipping rapidly between the different options that plague his mind all day. Immediately after being approached by Harper prior to third period, his mind was made up that he would be attending the meeting, no matter what he was risking by doing so. However, by the time lunch rolled around, he was less sure of the decision he had made. What if Alexa didn’t show up? What if she didn’t even know what was happening? What if Harper had lied?

Of course, any and all doubts were tossed out the window the second Alexa flashed him a brief smile in between passing periods for fifth and sixth hour. There was no way he was missing this chance.

He almost trips over his singular untied shoelace as he nears the bleachers, shoving both of his hands into his front jean pockets as he had observed both Hotch and Derek doing before. He tries his best to quell the grin that makes itself onto his face, but he can’t do much to hide the joy radiating off of him in palpable waves. This is real, this is happening, all of his anxiety throughout the day was for nothing. He was really here with Alexa Lisbon.

“Oh, uh, h-hey Alexa.” He manages to cough out, involuntarily attempting to lower his voice as he speaks. Girls liked that, right? That’s why Derek, Rossi, and Hotch all knew how to talk to girls. Well, he could do the same things they could. After all,  _ he  _ was the one standing six feet away from Alexa Lisbon, not any of them. 

“Hey! Come sit down, I don’t bite or anything.” She chuckles, her straight blonde hair falling over her shoulders and down her back like the trails of a waterfall. She offers him an encouraging smile, patting a place on the bleacher beside her to gesture him forwards. He feels as if he takes a step, he might as well be walking on a cloud. But, he manages to do so.

In fact, he actually takes three steps forward before the cloud evaporates completely, sending him careening towards the ground at 60 miles per hour. 

He hears them before he can see them. The crunch of the gravel below their sneakers as they rush from behind him, a male voice yelling directions that he can’t quite make out over the blood rushing to his ears or the voice screaming in his mind “get out of there right now!” However, the surge of adrenaline that courses through his small body is wholly useless and as he feels two sets of hands latch onto his arms, squeezing tightly, he’s pretty sure that thousands of years of evolution have just been proven incorrect by the fact that his flight-or-fight response definitely does not exist. 

He freezes like a deer in the headlights and ultimately, that’s his undoing.

“W-what? What are you doing? Let go of me!” He sputters out, squirming wildly in the too-tight grasp of his ambushers. He writhes frantically, kicking at nothing as he attempts to escape their hold. He watches in panic-stricken terror as a few more faces he can’t pair with names emerge from behind the bleachers. It’s hard to process much of anything with the way that his chest tightens like a boa constrictor has just wrapped itself around his body, but the unmistakable pattern of the school’s letterman jacket flashes in his peripheral view. Even if he wasn’t a genius, it doesn’t take long to deduce what’s happened. He’s been set up.

“Not a chance, freak.” The voice over his right ear snarls, his tone venomous enough to paralyze him momentarily. Alexa stands from her position on the bleachers, flanked almost immediately by Harper and Lena as more bodies begin to emerge. He doesn’t have the propensity to assume an exact number of bystanders, but he figures that most, if not all of them, have some affiliation with the football team or their close-knit group of friends. 

He knows it’s futile. He knows he’s going to lose. Still, he tries anyway.

“Alexa?” He chokes out, noticing belatedly just how ragged and uneven his breathing has become. He tries to will himself to calm down. What are the effects of short-term hyperventilation again? He can’t think of them. In fact, he can’t think of anything apart from the fact that his attackers are pushing him forward, as if they were his executioners in 18th century France, laughing cruelly along with the sneering faces of the rest of their surrounding group. For once in his eleven years of life, his mind goes completely blank.

“She doesn’t care about you!” The voice over his left shoulder asserts crudely. He doesn’t need to see the face to realize that the familiar tone belongs to Kyle Moore. “Nobody does.” The older kid adds for good measure. Spencer launches himself forward once more, hoping the momentum of his struggling will allow him to break free of their death grip on his upper shoulders and wrists, but he just ends up being yanked backwards without his attackers even breaking a sweat in the process. The plethora of football players and the few girls lingering erupt into a chorus of laughter at the sight. He’s fucked. He’s so completely fucked. Alex was right, JJ was right, his brothers were right—- wait. His brothers.

Football practice started at approximately 3:30 every day. He had gotten lost and ended up arriving at the track field by 3:13 instead of 3:00. That cut into their plan a significant amount considering all of them had to be changed out and on the field across campus in less than twenty minutes. Derek would be entering the locker room soon to prepare for practice, he would see all of his teammates missing and react accordingly, he would figure out what was happening. Derek would come for him. He had to come for him.

“Stop! My- my brother, he’ll-,” that’s all he manages to choke out as he attempts to express his logic before Kyle painfully grabs his lower arm and begins to twist it behind his back, his body protesting immediately as his shoulder feels as though it’s being ripped out of its socket. He cries out involuntarily, a strangled, guttural noise that barely sounds like him vacating his throat with anguish. This only causes his attackers to laugh more.

“Nobody’s gonna come looking for you, genius,” The voice he doesn’t recognize over his right shoulder informing him coldly. “Don’t worry, we planned for that.” He adds and Spencer doesn’t even get the chance to ponder what that could mean or whether or not it adheres to the standards of his own logic. In fact, he can barely process anything over the pain exploding in his left arm, still pinned against his back with excruciating pain. 

“You’re gonna have a  _ great _ night out here,” Kyle tacks on, pushing him forward a few more feet. “Maybe that’ll finally teach you a lesson.” He sneers and Spencer allows his panic to set in at that statement. What do they mean night? What are they planning to do to him? If his oxygen intake was borderline hyperventilation before, it’s nothing compared to the way he’s gasping now, still struggling despite all odds to break out of the hold he’s in. His shoulder protests at the unwarranted movement and his feet drag uselessly along the gravel as he’s dragged forward. His brain is completely overloaded with just slipping out of their grasp, but that’s certainly easier said than done considering his small stature. Even though he knows it won’t do anything besides fuel the energy of the small crowd before them, he begins to plead.

“P-Please! Please let me go!” He gasps in short, stilted breaths. “I didn’t— I didn’t do anything wrong! Please!” He cries out pathetically. However, his protests don’t do much aside from eliciting another round of laughter from the group of spectators. Kyle snaps at him to shut it, but he can’t hear much of anything over the searing pain in his arms or the way his chest feels as though it’s caving in on him. “What did I—?” He attempts to choke out, but interrupts himself by almost retching at the burning sting throughout his upper body as he twists in the opposite direction of his pinned shoulder. “What did I do?” He almost sobs, but chokes back the rising lump in his throat to avoid doing so. “Please just let me go and I’ll leave you alone! Please!” He bargains uselessly, writhing frantically still. Kyle and his other attacker merely push him forward once more, but two other sizable football players approach from the crowd and flank their teammates as a sort of warning. If Spencer hadn’t recognized them from several of Derek’s games, he would’ve been easily convinced that they were college students based on sheer size alone.

“Fisher, shut him up, he’s annoying enough when he’s not screaming.” Kyle orders ruthlessly to the guy on his right arm. The older boy quickly releases his viselike grip on Spencer’s skinny wrist and instead clamps his hand over the boy’s mouth. Spencer can feel the unpleasant sensation of sweat from the upperclassman’s palm against his lips and he formulates an idea. Not a great one, but it just may be crazy enough to work in his favor. 

“Ow! Little shit just bit me!” The boy, now identifiable as Fisher, exclaims a second after Spencer sinks his teeth into the skin of the older boy’s palm, hanging on tight in hopes of breaking the skin. Unfortunately, Fisher frees his flesh from Spencer’s mouth easily, wiping his palm against the fabric of his jeans to clear it of any saliva. 

“Keep it up and I’ll break your fucking arm, kid.” Kyle threatens, his tone deathly serious. Spencer doesn’t doubt that he can (and will) for a second. He’s found himself in a highly volatile situation with no discernible pathway out, and it’s completely his fault. If he hadn’t been so blind and missed the obvious signs of manipulation. If he hadn’t trusted so easily and let people in that could hurt him more than his own father had years prior. If he hadn’t been such an idiot. 

If the scenario wasn’t so compromising, he would actually laugh. IQ of 187 and he still couldn’t figure out when he was being played. It was somewhat ironic in a way.

But he doesn’t laugh. Especially not when Kyle and Fisher’s grips tighten around his arms, severe enough to cut off circulation to his wrists and forearms. He kicks and shouts and cries out all he wants, but it doesn’t make the slightest difference. They see him as entertainment— a cheap laugh for a boring afternoon. This is what they wanted to see.

“You can’t, you can’t do this!” He shrieks, reeling still despite the fact that he knows it’ll change nothing. He’s too weak, too small, too pathetic to break free. 

“I can do whatever I want,” Kyle retorts carelessly, suddenly diverting his attention over to another one of his group hanging nearby. “Dern, you got the stuff?” He questions and Spencer’s heart absolutely drops as Jack Dern steps forward from the crowd, his hands containing what becomes immediately recognizable as thick nylon rope and a pair of gardening shears. Suddenly, he notices where exactly Kyle and Fisher have been edging him closer towards this entire time and how the thick light post towers over him at an impossible height. Everything seems to click into place at that exact moment.

This isn’t opportunistic. This isn’t spur-of-the-moment let’s fuck with the kid because he looked at us the wrong way. This isn’t Alexa and Harper putting this together right before third period because they wanted to humiliate him. This is premeditated, weeks of careful planning, and waiting for the exact right moment to pounce like a lion hunting a gazelle out in the savanna. This is Alexa and Harper approaching him in the library to find out his after school schedule or at the mall to establish a sense of trust. This is their group shoving his head into toilets or scanning the lunchroom just to trip him as he walks by. This is Jack Dern getting even for the way Emily attacked him after he got into that fight in the hallway because he got detention for a week nearly two months ago now. This is for the last year and a half they’ve seen him in the hallways at Madison Heights, making sure he truly knows he doesn’t belong among them, that he doesn’t even deserve to breathe the same air as them. That he is nothing and will always be nothing. 

This is what they’ve been waiting for since the first time they saw him, and he walked right into their trap. He gave them what they wanted. 

“Please! Please, Kyle, don’t do this,” He begs, writhing so frantically it probably appears as if he’s been possessed. The crowd is probably still jeering and laughing. He doesn’t care. “I’m— I’m sorry! I’m sorry for whatever I did but please, please don’t do this!” He protests as the boys push him more towards the thick surface of the light post. Out of the corner of his eye he can vaguely make out Jack Dern measuring out pieces of the thick nylon rope. “I’ll leave you alone, I won’t ever speak again, I’ll leave the school! Pl-plea-ase! Please just le-let me go!” He screeches, making empty promises he knows he won’t be able to keep. It doesn’t matter, he figures that he’s hardly coherent over the sound of his hyperventilating and subsequent tears. He doesn’t even notice the wetness trailing down his face until at least a minute later. 

Suddenly Kyle pauses, signaling for Fisher to halt as well. For a brief second of denial, Spencer actually believes that they’ll let him go. That they’ll take him up on his offer of shutting up for good or leaving the school and they’ll decide he’s learned his lesson. But he knows that’s not going to happen. Especially not when Kyle grabs the back of his neck with the same force he’s been applying to his shoulder this whole time and squeezes so tightly Spencer thinks he may choke. 

“Get this through your thick skull, freak,” He hisses, low and threatening in Spencer’s ear. “I. Don’t. Care,” He asserts, emphasizing each word with the same tone. “And neither does that fake family of yours,” he adds with a cruel sneer, finally releasing his hold on the back of Spencer’s neck. He greedily sucks in a breath, but that’s about as long as his momentary reprieve lasts before Kyle speaks again, this time addressing the players that have been flanking him and Fisher. “Guys, get his pants down.” He demands and Spencer almost vomits at the sound of his order. Hadn’t they done enough? 

“Nooo! No!” He wails panickedly as the two other team members approach from either side. He kicks out at them, but his energy has depleted significantly since all of this began and he barely connects with the dirt track below let alone any of their body parts. “No! NO! H-Hotch! Derek! Anybody!” He screams through his sobs, his voice completely hoarse at this point from the last few minutes of yelling at the top of his lungs. They make quick work of undoing his belt and front zipper, immediately pulling down his pants to pool around his ankles. “Please help me! Please!” He continues. Luckily, the other football players back away as soon as his pants are down, leaving everything else in place. He sends up a silent prayer for the fact that they don’t go any further than just letting his pants fall to rest on the tops of his shoes, but the prayer is cut short as soon as he feels Fisher and Kyle rearrange their hold on him to press him up against the sleek metal of the track field’s light post. Through his tear-blurred vision, he registers the image of Jack Dern approaching with three pieces of nylon rope in hand, each cut to various lengths. “Please! Nooo! No! Let go of me!” He continues, his throat turning raw with each exclamation.

But nobody answers. Nobody comes to save him. There’s nobody except for the crowd egging each other on, Fisher and Kyle positioning his arms until they’re tightly secured behind the light post, and the unwelcome roughness of the nylon rope against his skin. He goes limp, the fight leaving his body entirely as the rope cuts into his wrists, fastened into an unbreakable knot that pulls his shoulders tautly against the cool metal of the thick post. Another cut of rope ends up being placed around his waist and tied to the post behind him, and a third secured around his thighs, effectively trapping him in three different spots against the surface of the post. It brushes uncomfortably against his skin as he slumps over, breathing against his sobs so raggedly that he fears he’ll pass out from the lack of oxygen alone. 

He hears the cheers, the laughter, the high-fives, and pictures being snapped. He hears the amusement in their voices as the group of kids his older brother plays football with every afternoon revels in the fact that they’ve just broken him, physically and emotionally. He hears the pride in their voices. This is all they wanted.

Still, he has to try. 

“Please…” he rasps in-between a sob, his voice barely audible above the laughter of the crowd. He doesn’t dare open his eyes. He can’t look up and meet the faces of Alexa and Harper or any of his other tormentors. He won’t let them see the defeat in his gaze. 

Kyle steps out from behind him, kneeling down so that they’re at eye level with one another. 

“You learned anything yet, freak?” The older boy sneers, regarding him with mild amusement as if he’s nothing more than a mere concept and not a real person. He blinks rapidly, tears still cascading down his face as he lifts his head slightly to meet Kyle’s gaze. Hope against hope, he tries.

“Please, Kyle, let me—“ He pauses, needing to suck in a breath before his lungs collapse on him from lack of oxygen. “Let me go. I won’t even, I won’t tell,” He whisperers almost inaudibly, the unintentional regression in his word choice coming out full force. “Please just, please just let me go.” He finally whimpers, squeezing his eyes shut once more as the tears come again. As if they’d ever stopped.

Kyle doesn’t respond, and it's the contemplative silence that kills him more than the fact that he’s stuck out on a lamp post with his pants around his ankles and the unbearable feeling of hot shame creeping up on his face. It’s the fact that his fate rests in the hands of Kyle Moore, a kid who hates him for absolutely no reason besides the fact that he exists. It’s knowing that the silence means he’s actually thinking about whether or not he’s going to untie Spencer or leave him there as the freezing November temperatures set in overnight. 

Unfortunately, he never gets his answer. At least, not outright. 

“Practice is starting guys, let’s get out of here before Buford notices.” One of the male voices he doesn’t recognize pipes up. He hears the crunch of gravel underneath their feet as one by one, they all begin to turn and leave. Although he’s aware of the inanity in the notion, he’s glad that the audience is dissipating even if that means he’s left tied to a lamp post completely alone. At least he’s alone. Absentmindedly, he wonders if Derek noticed his teammates’ absence. If his older brother put two and two together and realized that something might be off. If Alex realized that he wasn’t in the library tutoring a student like he claimed he’d be, or if she had gotten so sick of his adamant denial of her opinions about Alexa and Harper that she had finally realized he wasn’t worth the trouble. He wonders if Hotch or Emily or Penelope even notice he’s missing, or whether it’ll take them a few hours. He wonders, at his very core, if anybody really cares enough about the scrawny, annoying kid tied to a lamp post on the far edge of the track field. 

After a few minutes of listening to the crowd break apart, he finally cracks open an eyelid hesitantly to survey if he’s truly alone and to take stock of his surroundings. However, one bystander still remains. He can barely make out the image through the tears clouding his vision, but he still manages.

“Have a nice night,  _ freak _ .” Jack Dern scoffs, regarding him with nothing but hatred in his dark, swirling gaze. He takes a step forward and Spencer flinches, entirely convinced he’s about to sustain a hit to the stomach or eye, but the pressure never comes. Instead, he opens his eyelids warily once more and catches a glimpse of the twisted smirk that settles into Jack’s face. He doesn’t say anything else before turning and stalking off, his hands shoved into the deep pockets of his letterman jacket. 

Spencer sags against his restraints as the image of Jack grows further and further away until he’s nothing but a dot on the slight hill that leads back up to the gymnasium nearby. He doesn’t fight, doesn’t move, doesn’t scream. It doesn’t matter.

_ They’ll come find me _ he assures himself silently as his eyes slip shut once more.  _ They’ll come. _ He repeats uselessly, but deep in his heart, he knows it can’t be true.

Nobody’s coming. Not for him. Spencer Reid is truly, agonizingly alone. 

xxx

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sad one today. ch 25 should be up soon. let me know what u thot! thank you all for your continued support and kindness!


	25. deep in the cell of my heart, i will feel so glad to go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here is chapter 25 thank you all so much for your support and kind comments about last chapter. sorry it was so sad :( this one is sad too :(( 
> 
> major tw: bullying, language, blood
> 
> thanks always to everyone who reads this and erin, kk, noelle, and rachel for inspiring and motivating me to write.
> 
> enjoy the chapter, lmk what u think 
> 
> my tumblr is @doctcrspencerreid feel free to follow if u want !
> 
> xxx
> 
> Disclaimer: aspects of this work bear similarities to the separate publication “Patron Saint of Lost Causes”. the author of this work attributes the content in this chapter to the correct source (@themetaphorgirl). Publication of this work is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not replace the intellectual property of the above source. This work is intended for personal, non-commercial use only and the author attributes subsequently reproduced or reconstructed concepts to the original source, all rights reserved.

“Okay, when’s the last time anybody saw him?”

He surveys the small gathering before him with narrowed intensity, immediately getting straight down to business.

Their makeshift search-and-rescue team includes both him and Haley, a frenzied looking Alex, an absolutely anxiety ridden Penelope, and the concerned pair of Elle and Emily. As soon as Alex texted him with her initial concerns, he ordered her without hesitation to go track down Penelope from yearbook before he sent his own condensed version of the message off to Emily’s emergency flip phone, requesting that she meet them in front of the auditorium if possible. He knew Derek would be concerned as well, but the fact of the matter was that they didn’t have the time to spare to head all the way over to the gym and beg to pull him from practice. The clock was ticking every second, lingering ominously over their heads with the reminder that Spencer was missing.

He didn’t even want to ponder the possibilities of what would occur if they didn’t find him soon. 

“Me a-and Derek were both with him at lunch.” Penelope supplies, trembling slightly. He holds back a sigh at the sight of his clearly terrified younger sister. He wishes he could talk her back down from her over-emotional state and reassure her that everything would be alright, they’d find him soon enough and (hopefully) unscathed, but he couldn’t make promises that he was unable to keep.

“I saw him right before sixth hour.” Emily adds, worrying the inside of her cheek with her teeth. Her arms are crossed over her chest in a defensive stance, but the unmitigated concern plastered on her face and the way Elle’s hand rests comfortingly on her shoulder tells a completely different story. 

“I think...I think I saw him right after seventh before I found Em.” Elle admits, furrowing her brow as she struggled to remember. Immediately, every single pair of eyes in their group snaps over to her.

“Did you know where he was going?” Hotch demands, trying (and failing) to erase the nervous edge from his tone. 

“No he, he looked lost?” Elle mutters, running a hand through her hair to brush the short brown strands from her face as she concentrated. “I didn’t know what he was doing so I just kept walking.” She confesses, a sheepish blush appearing on her cheeks. He can’t fault her for what’s not her responsibility. In fact, he doesn’t blame any of them for letting the kid slip through the cracks. The only person he can blame is himself. If he hadn’t been messing around with Haley and throwing caution to the wind, he could’ve stopped this somehow. He could’ve made sure that Spencer was in the library with Alex or Penelope or whoever. He could’ve seen the obvious warning signs and slowed down from the chaos of their household the past few days and taken a second to just listen to his younger brother. He could’ve done something.

But, he didn’t. And now Spencer was missing and he was finding it considerably harder to keep his cool in front of the group he was supposed to be the ‘fearless’ leader of. 

“Where was this?” He counters, still hyper-focused on whatever Elle witnessed.

“Right by the cafeteria,” She retorts with confidence. “But I don’t know why he would be over there right now.” She sighs and Hotch silently agrees. None of this makes any rational sense which serves to concern him even more. When Spencer acts, he does so with careful premeditated steps. He has a set schedule and a propensity for following the rules, he doesn’t fly off the rails just because he can. There had to be some sort of trigger.

“Do you guys think he could be with anybody?” Alex pipes up for the first time in their conversation, and Hotch immediately hears the break in her voice. “He said he was supposed to be tutoring today…” She trails off with uncertainty, meeting Hotch’s gaze with trepidation. He wants to assure her that she can’t sit here and blame herself, but time is fleeting still and he has to act. He pulls his eyes away from Alex’s warm brown stare, immediately snapping into what Derek refers to as his ‘drill-sergeant’ persona.

“We need to split up,” he instructs without hesitation, knowing that they can cover more ground that way. “Emily and Elle, head back to the cafeteria. Alex, you’ve got my number. Take Penelope and try to search any place he could have ended up if he really is tutoring and didn’t head to the library,” He orders, each team of people nodding after his statement. “What’s his last class of the day?” He questions rapidly, switching gears.

“Chemistry.” Penelope inserts helpfully.

“Me and Haley will head there and see if he’s around,” He decides, regarding them all with a stern gaze. “Text me as soon as you know anything.” He reminds them all before they each head off into the direction he just ordered them towards. However, the brief control he exercised over them is fleeting and within mere seconds of walking away with Haley, he can feel himself spiraling again. He maintains his composure for all of ten yards before he can feel the anxious nausea settling in, hitting him like an unprecedented wave crashing ashore and washing away the remnants of preconceived security. He figures at least a trace of his concern breaks through from the steely walls he’s constructed around himself when he suddenly feels Haley slipping her significantly smaller hand into his, wrapping around his own fingers tight. 

“Are you gonna be okay?” She barely whispers as she struggles to catch up with his quick strides across campus. It’s not that far to the science wing, but it’s far enough in his panicked state. 

He nearly scoffs at her question, but doesn’t want to push her away with cold indifference. However, it’s almost comical that she’s asking  _ him _ if he’s going to be okay. He doesn’t get that question a whole lot, but it still feels inappropriate to hear at a time like this. 

“I’m more worried about him,” he admits, figuring that’s obvious enough in the way he’s unconsciously picking up his pace as they make their way towards the other side of the school. “He doesn’t do stuff like this. He doesn’t run off and not tell anybody where he’s going. This isn’t like him.” He reveals, divulging his earlier concerns. Somehow, speaking them aloud makes them all the more real and crushing with their monumental weight. He’s not a fan of the way his stomach feels as though it’s ripping itself in half or the way his heart nearly beats out of his chest. His hand feels clammy grasped inside of Haley’s, but he doesn’t dare pull away. He needs her to ground him, and the soothing touch is the only thing keeping him sane at the moment.

“Has he mentioned any new friends lately?” Haley prompts innocuously, trying to dissuade his apprehension with rational solutions. He almost rolls his eyes at that, but decides against it. Figures it’s too cruel considering their present circumstances.

“All he’s got is us,” he retorts, well aware of the connotations of that statement. All he’s got is them and they pushed him to the side, favoring their own petty conflicts and problems. Some family they are. “Alex is his only friend outside of us,” he adds plaintively. “She’s actually the one who told me about—  _ fuck _ .” He abruptly stops in his tracks, halting his previous thought before he can even finish. He blithely registers Haley’s grip go slack in his own as she surveys him with intrigue. However, he can’t form the words to explain to her what’s going on. The pit in his stomach seems to encompass every electrical impulse coursing through his body, restricting him from even breathing.

How could he possibly be so stupid?

“What? What’s wrong?” Haley demands fervently, searching his face for any signs of recognition. He can hear the edge of panic in her voice but he doesn’t have a second to reassure her. 

“Do you know where Alexa Lisbon is right now?” He inquires, tone deathly serious to the point where it’s almost unrecognizable as his own. The moment that ensues becomes the longest one of his life. All the air seems to get sucked out of the earth’s atmosphere like a vacuum, leaving him with only what’s left in his lungs for oxygen. His entire body runs cold at the sight of Haley’s face faltering slightly, her sapphire eyes growing wide with a sense of panic-stricken terror, the hand that was previously holding his flying up to cover her mouth as her jaw drops just slightly. Like the pieces of a puzzle, everything just clicks into place, but the end result isn’t the one he ever wanted to see.

“Oh gosh, Aaron,” Haley mumbles softly, so tentatively that she’s barely audible over the blood rushing to his ears. “I know where he is.” 

xxx

Shockingly, Derek is there to meet them as soon as they reach the grassy threshold that starts the slight downhill path to the track field.

Hotch immediately recognizes his brother from yards away, spotting his familiar bright scarlet Madison Heights Falcons jersey immediately. Without his helmet or shoulder pads, the material hangs off of his frame, making him appear much younger than he actually is.

It’s a frightening notion to swallow- just how  _ young _ all of them are.

“The rest of the team didn’t show up to change out until a few minutes ago. They—“ Derek sprints up to both him and Haley, the three of them still bordering on the edge of the track field’s pathway, terrified to take just one more step. He sucks in a breath, panting slightly. “They were all laughing about something, talking about finally teaching somebody a lesson,” His younger brother supplies, the statement alone churning Hotch’s stomach more than he can possibly bear. “I finally got Dern to tell me to come here.” Derek concludes, but his face doesn’t show even a hint of pride in his actions. His eyes are hollow, the same as they have been for a few months now, but the despair is more pronounced in his honey-brown gaze than it’s ever been. His hands are shaking and Hotch tears his gaze away from the slightly bloodied knuckles.

The world seems to move in slow motion as he stumbles down the slight hill, his eyes desperately scanning the bleachers and track field as he does so. He can vaguely register the sound of Derek and Haley following close behind, but the tunnel vision seems to cut out anything aside from that. His feet trip over each other in a desperate scramble to reach the bottom. Finally, when he finds himself on solid ground, his eyes shift over to the far ends of the extensive, secluded field in a darting panic.

That’s when he sees it and all the air leaves his body in a swift exhalation. The ground seems to crumble beneath him, the gravel fading away at all once as his knees buckle at the sight. He freezes, unable to process or really accept what’s before him. Time becomes suspended in mid-air, hanging over them like the dangling sword of Damocles. 

He meets his youngest brother’s tearful gaze and he just...breaks. 

His mind is not his own as he perceives the harsh reality he’s being greeted with in that moment. His voice is not his own as he orders Haley to go to Gideon’s classroom and see if the man is still on campus. His hands are not his own as he and Derek work with panicked dexterity to pull the knots of nylon rope loose. He tries to swallow the rising bile in his throat as he notices the rope burns situated on the kid’s pale, alabaster skin. 

He knows, in that instant, he is no longer the strong, impenetrable, forceful personality he’s crafted so diligently over the last four years. He is nothing more than a terrified kid, the same one who cowered in fear at the sound of smashing plates or screams of pain so many years ago. As his vision blurs with hot tears, he feels his careful shields fade away without a blink of hesitation. He can’t let them see him cry. He has to be strong. He has to be there for Spencer.

As his youngest brother buries himself in Aaron’s embrace, Derek joining in on the other side, he tries to ignore the wetness on his own cheeks as the kid sobs into his neck. He doesn’t say anything as he holds the boy he’s called his brother for four years in his arms, shielding him from the world that seems so dead set on torturing him for no apparent reason.

There are no words to remedy the situation. He doesn’t think there ever will be. 

xxx

Nightfall comes as the late afternoon recedes with the setting sun, but there is no respite for any of them that evening.

His body works of its own volition the second he sees Spencer, slumped over limply tied to a fucking lamppost, but that’s as far as he’s able to function for the rest of the evening. Hotch takes the lead, as usual, and he tries his best to be comforting, but the kid is broken beyond what soothing platitudes and gentle touches can heal. 

For a few hours, there is only a faint numbness that permeates his body. Hotch gathers Spencer up in his arms as soon as it becomes rather apparent that the kid isn’t pulling himself away from their oldest brother’s embrace. He orders Derek on where to find the others and emphasizes the point that they need to get home, he can take care of the rest here. Derek doesn’t protest as he usually would. He doesn’t have the strength to argue ever again.

He finds the others relatively easily, informing them in brief clipped tones that Hotch and Haley are with Spencer in Gideon’s classroom and that they’ll be home later. Penelope bursts into tears, leading Alex to comfort the youngest girl. Emily tries to fight the order, but Elle holds her back and does her best to soothe her. Eventually, they all either pile into Elle’s or Alex’s cars and make their way back to the house. He barely registers any of the events immediately following, however. He basically switches over to complete autopilot control, locking himself in his shared bedroom as a still-sobbing Penelope and an infuriated Emily do their best to explain to JJ what occurred. 

It’s an hour and a half later when Hotch, Haley, and Spencer show up at the front door.

Haley doesn’t linger for long and Derek tries not to notice her pained, sullen expression as she bids Hotch goodbye and his older brother doesn’t answer. Spencer straggles in the front door behind Hotch, clinging to his side as if he’ll fade away if he lets go for even half of a second. The pair head straight to the bedroom the three of them share, but Derek doesn’t dare follow despite the fact that his hands are twitching with anticipation. He knows his three sisters share the exact same position— they want to be there to comfort and care for their youngest member in the same manner, but overwhelming him will only lead to inevitable meltdowns. The kid has endured enough for one shitty afternoon, he doesn’t need their meddling as well. 

So, he sinks into the lumpy sofa between Penelope and one of the armrests. He props his elbows up on his knees before lowering his head to bury his face in the palms of his hands and lets out a shaky exhale. 

The world seems to sigh with him.

“He’s gonna be okay, right?” JJ whispers tentatively from her position on the floor, her back against the sofa. He doesn’t lift his head to provide her with an answer, unsure of how exactly to proceed with that. They all had experienced their fair share of trauma before coming to live with one another, but there was somewhat of an unspoken rule about looking out for each other when it came to life. They fought endlessly or bickered on about insignificant details, but they would never let anything happen to one another. That’s why this happened to be so startling— they had all failed the kid somehow. 

“He’ll be alright, Jayje.” Emily hushes. Without lifting his head he can hear his oldest sister pulling his youngest into a soft embrace, reassuring her with words that certainly weren’t true. He may be alright one day, but not anytime soon for sure. There was a wealth of emotional turbulence they would all be attempting to mitigate for weeks to come. They would all try their best to help him, but there were no guarantees that it would work. 

His sisters hadn’t been there to see the direct aftermath, but he had. Whenever he shut his eyes for more than a moment he could see the haunting image of his youngest brother strapped down by thick cords of rope to the surface of that metal lamp post, his body hung over in defeat with tear-stained cheeks and sweat-soaked hair. The fight had all but evacuated his spirit, leaving him with the sense of hollow loss that Derek had become too well acquainted with as of late. Even the thought of approaching his younger brother on that field causes the fury to rear up inside of him once more, boiling over like a pot of water left on a stove burner for far too long. He can feel the itching rage spread across his body, seeping into every opening and consuming him. Suddenly, he pulls his face from his palms, balling up his hands into tight fists as his eyes flicker over to Emily sitting just a few feet away.

“No, he’s not,” Derek snaps, directing his rage at the only source he can for the time being. His older sister flinches at the strong accusation, her ebony eyes narrowing slightly. “He’s not gonna be alright just because we want him to. We fucked up, we let this happen to him, if we had just—“ His harsh tirade is interrupted by the rising lump in his throat choking him, threatening to release the barrage of tears waiting just below the surface. He inhales shakily, attempting to ground himself as he clenches and unclenches his jaw. “I should’ve been there for him more. I should’ve noticed.” He manages to choke out softly, fighting back tears with each word. After his confession, nobody speaks for a prolonged moment as the tense silence settles over their atmosphere like a suffocating cloud. 

Shockingly, it’s Penelope who pipes up first.

“You sound like Hotch.” She sniffles, running the back of her hand across her eyes in order to brush away any lingering wetness. Her poor attempt at a joke amidst the terrifyingly serious situation doesn’t resonate with him at first, but it’s only after she begins to laugh gently at her own words through her tears that he finds himself able to produce even a hint of a smile. It takes another second, but JJ and Emily manage to find the light in her statement as well and he even catches a rare glimpse of happiness in Emily’s expression. She hasn’t been so tame around him for the last six days or so, it’s actually refreshing to see her not yelling at him or passive aggressively ignoring his entire existence.

“Yeah, I guess I do.” He muses with a miniscule smile, not pulling away as Penelope’s head comes to rest on his shoulder. 

“It’s not your fault, Der,” Emily offers up after another beat of silence, her hands absentmindedly carding through JJ’s waves of blonde hair as the youngest girl leans against her chest. “You can’t blame yourself for something you didn’t do.” She adds meaningfully. He opens his mouth to protest, but the look she shoots him is enough to silence him for another week. Suddenly, a pang of guilt stabs his chest as he realizes that this is the first exchange they’ve had where she hasn’t been glaring daggers at his head the entire time. It’s certainly a welcome change.

“I’m sorry, Em,” he responds with candor, regarding her softly from her position on the floor. He doesn’t need to clarify what he’s apologizing for, he knows that she already knows. “I’m gonna fix this.” He resolves with finality, keeping his statement as vague as possible. Emily, however, shares a look with him that allows him to see almost exactly what she’s thinking. What they’re both thinking. They both know what has to be done, and a single glance communicates that without any words. 

The rest of the evening ebbs away like a raft floating out to open waters, pulled by gentle currents into the inky blackness of the uncharted waters. He doesn’t contribute much else to any conversation and with no word from either Spencer or Hotch for hours, they all decide to retire early. When he heads to their shared bedroom to grab some sweatpants to change into, he doesn’t miss the way that Spencer still clings to their oldest brother even in sleep, his hands tightened around Hotch’s shirt as they breathe in sync with one another, finally able to rest. He makes quick work of changing into his pajamas and shutting the door softly behind him, figuring that he can spend the night out on the couch for once. He pretends not to notice a few hours later when Penelope ends up joining him in the small living room, but her presence works to ground him. He yearns for sleep, but it doesn’t come easy when his mind is running a mile a minute with each possibility. He knows his plan is crazy, it’ll backfire, and he’ll end up in more trouble than he’s worth; but he needs to do this. He needs to stand up for his brother.

It’s what his Dad would want him to do.

And that thought alone is enough to solidify his plan, evaporating any counter-argument he could conceive. He wakes just a few hours later, feeling anything but rested but determined enough to pull himself from the embrace of sleep. He breathes a sigh of relief when Emily reveals to the rest of them that Hotch and Spencer won’t be attending school that day, knowing that his older brother would be the first to intervene and deter him from what needed to be done.

There’s no way out now. 

Because this is what happens when nobody puts a stop to the incessant taunting and physical assaults. This is what happens when somebody witnesses another person in trouble and chooses to turn their head, figuring that there will be somebody else to deal with the problem eventually. This is what happens when he hears the rumors and gossip traded in the boy’s locker room, but he’s too wrapped up in his own tragedy to interfere and stand up for those who can’t stand up for themselves. This is what happens when boys who pick on the weaker kids in high school grow up— they turn into cheap facades of men like Carl Buford. This is what his Dad protected the world against back in Chicago, and this is what he needs to do without a doubt. 

If he couldn’t stand up for himself, he sure as hell could stand up for somebody else. 

“Hey! Moore!” He shouts as soon as his gaze flickers over the bright scarlet letterman jacket across the hallway before the commencement of first period. He can feel the sheer adrenaline pumping through his body, forcing him forward despite the churning of his stomach and the pounding in his head. The rest of the hallway seems to part like the Red Sea as he makes his way over to the lockers where his teammates are gathered, immediately seeing the recognition cross their faces as he stalks up to them. 

Kyle Moore smiles like the jackass he is, and Derek has never wanted to beat the shit out of anybody more. 

So, he does.

There isn’t any doubt in his mind that he made the wrong decision as he slams Kyle up against the lockers, delivering a destructive right hook to his face. He vaguely registers a sickening crack as his fist connects with the other boy’s nose, but whether it comes from his knuckles or Kyle Moore’s face is beyond him. He can’t feel the pain to discern what the answer is anyway. All he’s aware of is his forearm pressed up against Moore’s Adam’s apple and the way he’s struggling to breathe underneath Derek’s force. He feels a couple of the other guys around them attempt to pull Derek off of Kyle (who’s set to black out soon if he doesn’t get a breath in and if Derek doesn’t stop punching him) but he doesn’t budge. There’s panicked shouting, the heat emanating off of him in palpable waves, the roar of the crowd around them, but all he sees is the image of Spencer tied to that lamp post and his father’s dead body.

There are no heroes in the world. There is no good or bad to draw the proverbial line between those who commit sin and those who do not. There’s no reason why his dad should die at just 33 years old or why his youngest brother deserved to be traumatized by a group of Neanderthals he once believed to be his friends. There’s just him, his rage, and the fury of the fight that’s never left his body.

He gets another blow in before somebody, who he thinks is either Owen or Jack, rips him away from Kyle and futilely attempts to restrain him. Their hold doesn’t last for long, however, and he breaks free of their grasp with ease. Whether the red he sees is from the flash of a letterman jacket as he tackles whoever just grabbed him or from the fury pouring out of him, he’s not sure. All he knows is that he’s on the ground now in a full-out scuffle, enduring and serving blows to one of his teammates as the others attempt in vain to pull him away. 

“You don’t touch him! You don’t come near him! You don’t look at him ever again, you got me!?” He shouts, addressing nobody in particular but all of them at the same time. His voice is raw and raspy, but it barely sounds like him in the first place. If he could see himself in that moment, he doubts he would even recognize the boy right in the center of the fight. 

What feels like hours, but in reality is probably just a few seconds, passes before he feels a strong hand on the hood of his jacket pull him upwards, an arm coming across his frantically writhing form to restrain him. This time he knows it’s not one of his teammates because he can’t break free of the hold he’s in despite his best efforts. 

“You just made the biggest mistake of your life, kid.” A familiar voice booms and Derek doesn’t need to glance up to realize who’s grabbed him. In less than an instant, the fight leaves his body as quickly as it arrived and he goes limp in the older man’s grasp.

He gets one last look at Kyle Moore’s broken and bloodied nose and Jack Dern’s swelling eye before Coach Buford drags him away from the crowded hallway. The sight alone tells him all he needs to know.

The only mistake he made here was getting caught. He’d do it all again in a heartbeat. Anything to protect his family. 

xxx

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope u enjoyed even tho it’s super sad :(( please lmk what u thot!!!!!


	26. it’s better to feel pain than nothing at all

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha okay so this chapter was originally supposed to have another scene but then i hit like 8000 words and now its too long so the other scene for this chapter will now be in chapter 27! Anyway so here’s this chapter. Thank you to everyone who read and commented on my last chapter and i hope you enjoyed! I purposefully made this one a bit happier to make up for the Sheer Angst i’ve been writing for weeks now. Next chapter will hopefully be up on Tuesday! Thanks always to everyone who reads and thanks to noelle, kk, erin, and rachel for always inspiring and motivating me to write. If you enjoyed this chapter leave a comment down below letting me know what you thot! Thanks so much for reading!!
> 
> Oh! And my tumblr is @doctcrspencerreid if you wanna follow me/talk!!
> 
> Disclaimer: aspects of this work bear similarities to the separate publication “Patron Saint of Lost Causes”. the author of this work attributes the content in this chapter to the correct source (@themetaphorgirl). Publication of this work is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not replace the intellectual property of the above source. This work is intended for personal, non-commercial use only and the author attributes subsequently reproduced or reconstructed concepts to the original source, all rights reserved.

“You really screwed up this time, kid.”

It’s the complete opposite of the way his Dad used to lecture him when he was a kid and had gotten caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to be doing. Whether it was arguing with his sisters again or staying up well past his bedtime, there was always the guarantee that his Dad would find out somehow. He had some innate sixth sense for just knowing when Derek was getting himself into trouble and would always step in right before he had the chance to make things worse on his own.

His father was the most patient man he’d ever known, especially considering the fact he was raising three young kids while working a full time job. Whenever he was disappointed in Derek for acting out of line, he would take him to a separate room, cross his arms over his chest, and stare him down with unwavering eye contact. Although he wasn’t aware of it when he was younger, it was really his Dad’s way of addressing him without talking down to him or being condescending. His father, although relatively strict at times, didn’t believe in unnecessary yelling or creating a volatile environment if one of his kids had done something wrong. It took Derek winding up in his first foster home to truly understand and appreciate the way his Dad had dealt with them in the past and how distinct that was to his father’s personality.

This wasn’t like that.

He’s shoved rather harshly down onto one of the benches in the empty gymnasium that morning, although the roughness isn’t foreign to him. His Coach, (although the man barely deserves that title of respect anymore) glares down at him with unbridled rage, fury emanating off of him in palpable waves. If Derek hadn’t had all the sense knocked out of him that morning already he would’ve probably been expressing some shred of fear in the face of present dangers. But it was more akin to a nature documentary when the prey of a considerably larger animal just freezes as their attacker approaches, unaware of which path to take out or whether or not they’ll actually survive past the next ten seconds. 

Well, his ten seconds are up, and that decision was made for him several months ago.

“I put my reputation at stake to get you on this team!” The man begins, the veins in his neck bulging outwards as he strains his voice to yell at Derek. He’s more pissed off than Derek has ever seen him and just to be cautious, Derek keeps a steady eye trained on the man’s tense hands in case he needs to duck. His reflexes are honed from that first year moving around various foster homes until he met Hotch, not to mention the few fleeting times he’s dodged attacks from Greg before Hotch finally convinced him to stop provoking the older man if he wanted to keep himself alive. He knows this particular display of strength in alpha males is characterized by a need to feel in control of their surroundings, so he tries his best not to rock the boat if he can avoid it. His reflexes might be impressive, but that doesn’t mean that he wants to use them.

“I stuck my neck out for you to make you the youngest starter in this sorry excuse for a football team’s history and  _ this _ is how you repay me?” The coach roars, his voice echoing off of the walls of the vacant gymnasium. Derek nearly scoffs at the rhetorical question, but stifles any display of emotion in order to maintain some semblance of indifference. He figures he’s rocked the boat enough that morning, he doesn’t need to send it careening off of a waterfall in the process. “How do you think that reflects on me?” Coach Buford snaps, his dark eyes flickering with a concentrated rage that he only gets during particularly rough practices. 

It’s hysterical, really, that Derek has just assaulted two of his teammates in the hallway and probably broken Kyle Moore’s nose into an indistinguishable shape and his coach is lecturing him on how it affects  _ him _ rather than how this could affect Derek. It’s textbook narcissism, but Derek doesn’t have to just be present for this conversation to see that Carl Buford cares about himself and only himself. The accolades, the praise, the acclaim from his illustrious coaching career doesn’t stem from actual passion for his job, but for the thrill he gets from the recognition he receives. He doesn’t care about his students or his team, but he made that abundantly clear on the day he first laid a hand on Derek’s shoulder at tryouts. The action might have been harmless at first, but it was just a gateway onto a darker, untraveled path that Derek would’ve never imagined himself on. It was never  _ just  _ a touch.

“You’re benched for tonight’s game. We’re subbing in Reynolds.” Buford retorts coldly after a prolonged moment of stale silence invades the gymnasium. Derek had been steadily dissociating himself from the situation in order to stave off outward displays of emotion and feed into his coach’s massive ego trip, but that gets him. Within seconds he’s on his feet, glaring right back up at the man with a newfound tenacity and unrestrained aggravation. 

“Coach, it’s the bi-districts!” He protests belligerently, knowing how vital this game is to their playoffs performance. Not to mention that the Falcons have been garnering not only regional, but statewide attention from all angles. Derek knows that’s nothing to scoff at, especially when it comes to awarding coveted athletic scholarships or summer programs. “You can’t just—!” He continues, but his argument is dismissed as soon as his coach cuts back in, a defiant rage in his beady eyes.

“I can do whatever the hell I want, Morgan,” he snarls, baring his teeth like some sort of feral dog. Derek takes that as his cue to sit back down shakily on the bleacher bench below him. “You’re lucky I’m just suspending you from the game and not indefinitely. I’m gonna advocate for you with Strauss, but you better keep your ass inline and keep your mouth shut if you want to remain a player on this team,” The older man asserts and Derek would feel the urge to roll his eyes at the statement if he wasn’t so terrified of the possibility of being suspended from the team. “Cause, let’s face it,” The man scoffs mirthlessly, a rueful smirk appearing on his wiry face. “You’re not getting anywhere in life without football,” he reminds him, well aware of Derek’s multiple insecurities facing his academics and his future following graduation. It’s one of the reasons that Carl Buford was able to so easily manipulate him from the get-go. Derek doesn’t open up to many people or make himself outwardly vulnerable, but he wears his pride on his sleeve and that was the first thing Buford was able to latch onto in order to convince Derek to be alone in that locker room with him so many months ago. 

What hurts the absolute most is that he’s right.

“You’ve only got talent because I say that you’ve got talent and people that matter believe what I say” The man continues, the underlying message of his words present even if he doesn’t intend it to be. ‘ _ People believe what I say so they won’t even bother listening to you if you try to tell them what’s going on, don’t even bother because nobody will believe you. They’ll see you as some weak charity case, seeking out the attention he doesn’t get at home _ .’ Might as well be what the man says because that’s what he means. Not to mention the shame, torment, and intense interrogation that will undoubtedly follow in the wake of such a massive confession. He couldn’t take it without breaking. He wouldn’t be able to handle it. 

His body goes as rigid as a board as Buford takes a step forward, his voice menacing and low as he levels with Derek. 

“You’re  _ nothing  _ without me and it’ll do you some good to remember that, kid.” The man snarls, his voice raspy and low as it contrasts against the invading silence of the gymnasium.

Even when he directs Derek to head straight to the office instead of class, the words don’t resonate as much as that last statement. After all, it’s hardly a statement and more of a threat in the long run. The words echo throughout his mind as he makes the familiar trek down to the front office, preparing for the worst case scenario as he deals with the repercussions of his hardly regrettable actions. The growing pit in his stomach threatens to consume him, but he ignores the dull throbbing in favor of focusing all his energy on attempting to steady his breathing back down from the brink of a panic attack. However, he’s unsuccessful in concentrating on anything else aside from the meaning of that last sentence.

_ You’re nothing without him. You’re nothing without him. You’re nothing without him. _

You’re nothing. 

For as long as he lives, he doubts he’ll ever forget that.

xxx

As a young child, there was nothing more emotionally and mentally scarring than the sense of foreboding that accompanied falling asleep each night.

He would lay awake as the eerie stillness of his undecorated room washed over him like a slow-rising tide. His eyes would scan the room frantically at even the hint of the slightest noise, terrified of what lurked behind the eigengrau shadows of his barely lived-in room. He was merely four or five at the time, but he wasn’t permitted to hold onto his cherished nightlight after his father discovered his dependence on the specific tool. He had claimed he was doing this for Spencer’s well-being and development, that other kids would mock him if they came over and saw he still slept with a night light or a stuffed toy. Of course, there were never any other kids that came over to play like his father said they would. There was just him, his mother, and the copious amounts of notes that filled the composition books his mother supplied him with to hone his hyperthymesia like a trained seal. 

Of course, he didn’t mind the attention he warranted from his fantastic memory; after all, it was the only attention he got at times. His father spent long and grueling hours at the office each day, even going in on Saturdays to work if he felt the case was necessary enough. Spencer, despite his age, quickly learned that the case was always necessary— what wasn’t necessary was his family. 

His mother, on the other hand, was a mixed bag. More often than not, she would retreat into the inner corners of her mind and zone out for eight or nine hour stretches, forgetting to feed herself or take her medication without constant reminders. She would adopt a blank stare and focus on a patch of carpet or a corner of the ceiling for hours, blocking out the stimulant of the outside world that threatened to tear her apart. However, there were also the fleeting moments of cherished lucidity that flickered between the scenes of thrashing or petulant resistance, cutting through the terrified screams and protests with the reminder of who his mother really was before the break. 

He sought out comfort primarily from her, because she was the only one who could offer it at times. Although she wasn’t always his mother, she would never stop being his mom— illness or not. So, when the parasomnia struck in the form of vivid night terrors that caused him to jolt upright in bed, panting and sweating from an invisible fight, he immediately found himself running across the hallway to his parents’ bedroom, eager to curl up in bed with his mother to help keep the imagery from his haunting dreams at bay. 

But, his father wasn’t so keen on letting him stay in their bed each night and he would walk Spencer back to his room after each nightmare with an aggravated sigh.

“You have to grow up sometime, Spencer,” His father would groan, making sure that Spencer got into bed alright as he returned him to that dark room, isolated from the rest of the house. “You have to be strong for your mom, she needs you to be strong.” He would claim, jaw gripped tight in agitation whenever Spencer would ask him to check under the bed to make sure there was nothing lingering underneath the hanging fringe of his bedsheets. 

The night terrors persisted, but Spencer’s propensity to rely on others didn’t. He was five now so he had to be strong. He had to grow up. His father said so.

At six-and-a-half years old, his father disappeared into the inky obsidian of the night without so much as a backwards glance. The door slammed behind him with a lasting finality and the master bedroom became an open sanctuary for him to retreat to after his nightmares. He would lay his head right above his mother’s chest, his ear situated so he could hear the constant thumping of her heart revertabrating as he slipped into a more comfortable sleep. Her arms would encircle his slight frame with desperation, holding tightly as if she were silently afraid that he would disappear as well if she blinked.

This dynamic lasts for two weeks before he sees how the illness ravages her mind to the point where neither of them will last another month if they continue on like this. A neighbor ends up calling child protective services when they come over to check on the pair and see the disaster area and Spencer’s cut up feet from the broken glass remnants left from the plates his mother had destroyed in a fit of unseen terror. 

He gets passed from temporary home to temporary home as his mother’s doctors process solutions. Eventually, it ends with her being institutionalized across the state and him packing up his few remaining belongings in the house that he could never truly call a home. 

His first night in his new house, he finds himself being shaken roughly awake before he reaches the culmination of his usual night terror. At first, he blinks himself out of the darkness in disbelief (primarily because the man that greeted him at the door as his new foster father definitely didn’t seem like the type to be comforting anything or anybody after a nightmare) but the confusion clears up after realization strikes him and he sees that the offending hand on his shoulder belongs to the quiet, kind-eyed older boy with choppy black hair that hangs over his face in a disheveled manner. 

“You good, kid?” The boy hisses in a pseudo-whisper. Unlike his father whose words were always cold and indifferent, laced with a familiar hint of hint of annoyance, the boy that looms over his bed holds an unfamiliar type of concern on his face that seems genuine. His gaze is so penetrating that Spencer feels unable to brush away the question with his usual claims of ‘I’m fine’ and he merely shakes his head, hoping that the older kid won’t react negatively to his admission of weakness.

The boy’s face falters for a moment and he spares a glance over his shoulder, eyeing his own mattress across the room that they share with one other kid (who seems to still be fast asleep). 

“You wanna stay with me tonight?” He offers, a half-smile gracing his otherwise serious countenance. Spencer hesitates, weighing whether or not his suggestion is genuine. Because people have an interesting tendency to lie. People will tell him that they care and then they disappear one night without a word of explanation. People will tell him that everything will be okay but then he’d have to watch his mother spiral down the dark pathways of her mind, ignoring him for days on end. People will tell him that he could stay with them, but then they’d retract that offer just as rapidly and with that hint of malice that cued him into the obvious fact that they were actually doing so to mock him. People weren’t like facts— they were constantly shifting and changing and he could rarely keep up. 

But the boy seems like a safe bet and the inner corners of his subconscious that seem hellbent on terrorizing him at night are a far worse option. So, he curls himself up into a ball against the older kid’s side. He lays his head right above the boy’s chest, his ear situated so he could hear the constant thumping of his heart revertabrating as he slips into a more comfortable sleep. 

He pretends not to notice a few weeks later when a new night light appears in the corner of their bedroom, but he allows Hotch a grateful smile nonetheless. 

Over time, the night terrors gradually begin to fade away into the recesses of his mind, an insignificant memory amidst thousands of others in the teeming crowd of information that his brain picks up every day. But the comfort of his older brother’s presence remains, and as their family grows with the addition of Emily and Penelope just a few years later, he realizes that his father could not have been more wrong.

They were a family. He could rely on them for anything.

xxx

That first night doesn’t come easy.

He wakes up around 3am after finally falling into a restless sleep about two hours prior. He feels a stab of guilt as he jolts awake, the familiar feeling of ropes digging into his skin permeating the surface of his dreams. He’s delirious as he mistakes the tight hold Hotch has him in for the invasive restraints that he was in earlier that afternoon and he lashes out, a scream of protest falling from his lips that would surely stir the rest of the household.

“Kid, kid calm down. It’s just me, it’s Hotch,” His older brother soothes, loosening his hold on Spencer only slightly when he realizes that close contact might be the problem. Spencer takes a ragged inhale as he attempts to process his surroundings with wide eyes, the memory of his terrifying dream already resurfacing and reminding him of his present reality. Without a second a further hesitation, he’s throwing himself headfirst back into Hotch’s open arms and burying his face into the older boy’s chest to hide from the rest of the world. “It’s alright, kiddo, you’re alright.” Hotch murmurs, running a soft hand up and down the length of his back as he cowers in fear.

“H-Hotch,” He gasps incoherently, only half-aware of the fact that the wetness trailing down the face is because he’s suddenly sobbing, leaving a growing stain on the front of Hotch’s pajama shirt. “I-I,” He stammers, but doesn’t manage much else out as his tears threaten to choke him if he doesn’t release them. The vivid image of his attackers and the unpleasant memory of the burning humiliation he endured barely 24 hours ago forces him to the brink of panic, reminding him that he can’t escape from the relentless bullying, even within his own mind.

“Shh, shh, just let it out, Spence,” His older brother murmurs softly, doing his best against all odds to comfort him as the sobs wrack his body. “Just let it all out,” He advises, his voice even against the raging waters Spencer finds himself lost in. He inhales frantically, trying to get enough air into his lungs as he kneads the material of Hotch’s shirt with both hands, terrified of what letting go entails. “Good job, buddy, you’re doing great. There we go, just like that.” Hotch soothes, alternating between patting his back and rubbing it gently to try and stave off a panic attack or hyperventilation. Spencer isn’t too sure of what he’s being praised for as he continually sobs into his older brother’s chest, making an absolute wreck of the material of his shirt, but he cries until his eyes run dry and there’s nothing left but the sniffling remains of his panic. Even the lingering shouts of his tormentors, so vivid and lifelike in a subconscious state, begin to fade as he drifts back off to sleep. His breathing begins to even out as Hotch reclines against the pillows once more, but he doesn’t break free of the embrace they’re in. He could use the comfort for once. 

That ends up being the first of three other rude awakenings from the persistent night terrors, each one just as scarring as the last.

Finally, when he accidentally kicks Hotch awake at around 6am for the third time that morning, he gives up on getting back to sleep. Especially if his mind is nothing but a consistent reminder of the spikes of terror he spent an afternoon working through. The night-light is nothing but a dim glow as Hotch makes sure to flick on the overhead light in their shared bedroom and Spencer notices with a flicker of gratitude that Derek didn’t end up returning to their room for the evening. He feels guilty for forcing his brother to sleep somewhere else, but subjecting one person to his horrible night terrors is enough of a burden to be weighed on his shoulders. 

“I think we should talk about it.” Hotch ends up admitting reluctantly as he rubs the remnants of sleep from his eyes, his voice hoarse still from lack of speech. He settles back down on the mattress after engulfing the room in light, sitting cross-legged with his back up against the wall his bed rests against. Spencer shoots him an inquisitive look.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say.” He confesses, worrying his lower lip with his teeth. That much is true. There isn’t a whole lot left of the story to divulge that wasn’t already revealed to him and Haley in the confines of Mr. Gideon’s classroom immediately after the event. In fact, for all that his memory is worth he can’t seem to access a specific emotion to associate with any of what had occurred to him aside from what he had already sobbed out into Hotch’s arms immediately after being found. Not to mention the fact that he  _ really  _ doesn’t want to revisit what it felt like to be tied to that lamppost.

“How do you feel right now?” Hotch prompts pensively, the words falling from his mouth unnaturally. Spencer shoots him a sarcastic glance, disbelief scrawled all over his expression. Hotch relents with a half-eye roll, blowing out a breath exasperatedly. “Just try, okay?” He mutters and Spencer’s gaze trails down to focus on his hands, nervously fidgeting on his lap below. 

“I feel like...like—“ His voice tapers off with uncertainty and he shuts his eyes, trying his best to block out Hotch’s invasive stare. He manages a hitching breath, attempting to push past the doubt and fear engulfing him as he processes the issue internally. “I feel like the Earth is still moving at 1,000 miles per hour but I’m moving twice as fast. I feel like I just want everything to slow down for two seconds but it’s never gonna stop no matter how much I want it to. I feel like, like,” A strangled noise catches in his throat and before he can recompose himself he feels Hotch’s hand squeeze his shoulder tight. That motion alone gives him the strength to continue, despite the fact he’s teetering dangerously on the edge of another breakdown. 

“I feel like I have all these facts and statistics and rules for how to live stored in my brain, but I can’t tell myself how to feel. I could learn everything there is to know about human behavior and why they did the things they did or why they hate me so much, but I’ll never be able to know why I don’t know how to react. I just want to know why I should be as furious as you were yesterday but I’m just...not,” He ends up sighing dejectedly, the words tumbling from his lips with shocking ease. He can feel Hotch’s worry emanating off of the other boy but he doesn’t dare look up, terrified of what he’ll see if he does. Disappointment? Confusion? Disgust? If he keeps his focus trained on anything else he’ll never have to know. He likes it that way.

“I just feel tired, I guess,” He concludes lamely, although it’s mostly the truth considering how many times he’s woken them both up throughout the night. “Also I don’t know what I’m supposed to do next. Shouldn’t I go tell the principal or something?” He mumbles, passing a hand through his sleep-ruffled hair as he finally pulls his gaze away from his lap to meet Hotch’s countenance. The older boy’s steely glare melts as soon as Spencer glances up, his features immediately softening from the contemplative silence into concerned kindness. 

“Gideon’s filing the report with Strauss today so you don’t have to worry about any of that,” Hotch reveals, categorizing the issues at hand in a familiar manner. It’s what his older brother tends to do when he gets stressed and needs to regain control of a specific situation. “But we should probably talk about what you wanna do, y’know, after something like this.” He sighs, searching his mind for the correct words. Spencer furrows his brow as he takes in his brother’s expression, attempting to discern his intentions.

“What do you mean?” He ventures warily, genuinely unsure of what Hotch could be referring to.

“Do you want to go back? To school I mean.” His brother elaborates curtly, passing a hand through his own mop of dark hair, the tousled strands sticking up in disarray from a night of restless sleep.

“Oh,” Spencer breathes, his heart rate suddenly picking up as he processes the question. Does he? Of course he does. School has his teachers, his AP classes, Alex, and his siblings. Not to mention the obvious fact that there’s not really an alternative he can willingly accept due to their limited transportation and funds. “Do I really have a choice?” He questions, voicing his concerns aloud.

“Well, we can figure something out for you.” Hotch suggests vaguely, but Spencer can see through the transparency in his statement. He knows that there’s not really any option outside of just sucking it up and braving it back at Madison Heights, but that Hotch would fight tooth and nail until he came up with a solution even if it killed them (or their finances). It was an admirable trait, but not feasible for an already struggling family of six that was barely held together by a single loose thread. Although he was unsure of what could happen if he did decide to return to school, he knew that he really didn’t have much of a choice to make. 

“What about today?” He inquires as he rubs a hand over his face, the hollow exhaustion from a restless night settling in. He feels Hotch’s arm come around his shoulders with ease and he tries not to tense up at the unforeseen contact as his older brother pulls him into a gentle embrace.

“We’ll stay home today, it’s okay.” Hotch consoles him as they recline into the mattress. His voice tries its best to remain steady in the face of uncertainty, but Spencer can hear the worn-down exhaustion in his tone that he unintentionally conveys. 

“We stayed home 56 days ago.” Spencer mutters into his chest, words slightly muffled and almost indecipherable through his own exhaustion.

“I don’t think you’ll miss anything on the Friday before a break,” His older brother scoffs, coursing a steady hand through his hair as he does so. The contact is welcome and Spencer sinks into his touch. “You’ll be okay.” He adds nonchalantly, but whether he’s referring to the fact that it’s okay to miss school or just in general, Spencer isn’t quite sure. Either way, he appreciates the effort that Hotch goes to, even if he can’t promise the easy resolution that Spencer silently hopes for.

The rest of the morning passes in a quiet haze. The early winter sun rises on the horizon around 7am and Hotch leaves the comfort of their warm bed to wake up the rest of their family. Before the other kids end up leaving for school, Emily and JJ stop by to check on him and Penelope leaves him with her coveted school laptop, already having queued up a (probably pirated) movie for him to watch. Although he’s more partial to nature or science documentaries (especially those concerning neuroscience) he still enjoys watching through the entirety of ‘Finding Nemo’ with Hotch that morning.

They make it through Finding Nemo and the first ten minutes of Hotch’s favorite movie (something he’s never heard of called ‘Love Actually’) when the landline from the kitchen rings, its presence a stark contrast to the comfortable silence the rest of the house sinks into when the rest of their family is removed from the equation and not available to cause constant chaos or background noise. 

Hotch leaves the room looking marginally curious and returns looking absolutely enraged.

“That was the school,” He supplies hastily, his words punctuated with visible aggravation. Before Spencer can ask him to clarify he’s already elaborating as he pulls off his shirt and begins getting dressed into street wear. “Derek’s been suspended for fighting,” He explains agitatedly. Spencer feels his jaw involuntarily fall open, shocked at what he’s hearing. He doesn’t figure asking for further clarification will help either of them— he knows exactly what kind of fight Derek’s gotten into. “I have to head over there and try to convince them to let me sign him out. Are you good staying here?” His oldest brother questions, shrugging his worn sweatshirt over his head and pulling the drawstrings tight.

“I’ll be alright.” Spencer supplies with a solitary nod. He doesn’t realize until Hotch leaves in an irritated huff how fast his heart is thudding against his ribcage. Although he knows he should probably be equally as upset with Derek for putting himself in the line of danger, there’s something oddly...comforting about the notion. It shouldn’t be that shocking to hear— Derek has a fierce protectiveness instilled in him more akin to Hotch’s than anybody he’s ever met before. He gets defensive when questioned and agitated when reprimanded, but he’s not outwardly violent (excluding his time spent on the field of course). To think of Derek standing up to the kids who tormented him so relentlessly and taking justice into his own hands…he knows he shouldn’t be glad but he is.

About an hour and a half later, he hears the telltale sound of the front door slamming shut and the evidence of two pairs of shoes shuffling in. However, the room remains basked in silence for the time being as the two voices of his older brothers remain strictly outside the confines of their shared bedroom, engaging in a quiet (seemingly one-sided) discussion in low tones in the living room. Although knowing Hotch, Spencer is relatively sure that he’s already been lecturing Derek’s ear off for the entire duration of the city bus ride home. Evidently, he’s proven correct when just a few minutes later the signs of conversation from the living room gradually fade away and the door to their bedroom pushes open as Derek stumbles inside.

He expects belligerent, monosyllabic responses. He expects the closed-off glances and solitary stance. He expects the snappy remarks and curt glares that they’ve all experienced firsthand for the last few months with only flashes of the real Derek in-between the prolonged stretches of agitation and exhaustion.

What he doesn’t expect is the sly grin that Derek breaks into as he greets him.

“Hey kid.” He nods, clearly trying to fight back his smile as he eyes the bedroom door precariously. Spencer furrows his brow, attempting to get an accurate read on the situation to discern what the hell his older brother is so happy about.

“Uh, what’s up?” He ventures, raising an eyebrow inquisitively. Derek sets his backpack to the floor next to his bed, immediately slumping down onto his mattress and relaxing into his duvet cover.

“Sorry, I have to pretend to act like I’m sad about what happened in front of Hotch. He’s pretty pissed,” Derek scoffs, still keeping an eye on the doorframe as if he’s making sure that their oldest brother isn’t about to walk in. “But I’m not sad about getting suspended. Those guys deserved it.” He shrugs nonchalantly and Spencer even finds himself grinning at that. They certainly did. It doesn’t mean he condones the violence, but he figures Derek has already received one hell of a lecture from Hotch already, he doesn’t need any added judgement from Spencer on top of that.

He pretends, for Hotch’s sake, not to look too excited when he hears that Derek ‘accidentally’ broke Kyle Moore’s nose in the scuffle. And if the thought of Kyle Moore walking around with a crooked nose for the rest of his life is slightly enthralling, well, who is he to judge violence anyway?

The rest of the day slips by and eventually, even Hotch loses his tense edge concerning the situation. Pretty soon the three of them are gathered on the floor of their bedroom engaged in a relatively intense game of Clue, fighting through their laughter as they all take turns accusing each other of cheating at the board game. He’s missed the moments like these that have steadily declined in prevalence over the last few years, forcing the divide between them as trivial aspects of life get in the way of just hanging out. It feels nostalgic of the long summer days from when he first arrived at their house (back when it was just Hotch, him, Derek, and JJ) when they could just spend hours in each other’s company. Before Hotch was constantly stressing over finances that were now his primary responsibility to control or before Derek and JJ dedicated their entire existences to practicing their respective sports. The nostalgia of it all pains him a bit with the reminder that the moments he craves are fleeting and pretty soon they’ll be entirely nonexistent, but he can try his best to hold onto them for as long as possible in the meantime. 

When he hears the key turning in the lock of the front door just a few hours later his heart gives a flutter before he realizes that it's well past 3pm and the rest of his siblings have just gotten off school. Within an instant their shared bedroom is immediately crowded with the presence of not just his three sisters, but the welcome addition of Rossi, Elle, and Alex as well.

“So you guys got to skip school and hang out here all day while I had to deal with Gideon on my own? Yeah, that’s fair.” Rossi scoffs before immediately throwing himself down on Hotch’s empty mattress, the blankets having been removed hours earlier so that they could lay them out on the floor as they alternated between watching movies on Penelope’s laptop and sifting through their limited thrift-store board game supply. Spencer chuckles as Hotch admonishes Rossi with a sharp look and curt “get your gross feet off my bed” before the older boy kicks his sneakers off to the floor in a heap.

“Hey, we’re off for a whole week now at least.” Emily shrugs, dropping into a cross-legged sit right between Derek and Hotch on the carpeted floor. Spencer can’t contain his grin at the sight of Emily and Derek being in close proximity without the urge to rip each other’s heads off. He supposes they have his trauma to thank for their reluctant reconciliation, but he’ll take it anyway. 

“You’re still coming over for Thanksgiving, right?” Spencer chirps up, turning around slightly to face Alex as she meanders over to sit next to him on the floor.

“I wouldn’t miss it.” She grins, pulling him into a light one-armed hug.

The room falls into an easy banter, tossing around sarcastic comments and jokes with ease before Hotch finally declares that they move themselves to the living room so that they’re not sitting on top of each other in the limited space of the bedroom. Spencer ends up curling up on the couch, his head resting in Alex’s open lap with his legs situated over Hotch’s. He doesn’t care if he looks childish seeking out comfort so openly, he figures it’s valid after the events he’s been through. He’s pretty sure he drifts off for at least a few minutes because when Alex shifts underneath his head slightly, he notices that the sun has sunk considerably closer to the horizon and the Monopoly board he witnessed Penelope, Emily, and Elle setting up is in completely disarray, as if they were right in the middle of a game rather than just beginning one.

He furrows his brow in slight confusion, noting through a disoriented haze that the living room is almost deserted save for him, Alex, and Hotch on the lumpy sofa. However, before he’s able to voice his concerns, Derek rounds the corner leading back into the living room and spots him instantly.

“Hey, you ready to go?” His older brother asks nonchalantly, currently pulling a Chicago Bears beanie over his hair that Spencer has seen make a reappearance every single winter he’s known Derek. Still fighting through the remnants of his brief nap, he shakes his head trying to decipher Derek’s message.

“Go where?” He ventures, pushing his head off of Alex’s lap in the process. He barely notices the girl run her hand throughout his tousled locks, most likely attempting to smooth down the hair that has a tendency to stick up in several directions.

“It’s a surprise!” Penelope cheers, stumbling into the room with only one of her boots on as she struggles to shove her other foot into the shoe. Spencer perks up a bit at that, wondering what on Earth that they could be referencing.

“Derek, he doesn’t need to be—“ Hotch begins with a quiet scoff from his position on the end of the couch, but before Spencer can hear the remainder of his protests he’s cut off by Emily and Elle wandering into the living room, both dressed in their winter attire.

“No, he definitely does,” Emily interjects ruthlessly, a sly smirk decorating her face and the mischievous glint in her dark eyes evident from even across the room. Spencer doesn’t miss the way her hand is intertwined in Elle’s or the way that the two haven’t strayed even a few feet from each other all afternoon. “And so do you, Debby Downer,” She adds with a meaningful glance towards Hotch that has the whole room chuckling. “Get your coat on, we’re leaving in ten.” She declares hastily. Hotch merely crosses his arms over his chest, rising to his feet as Alex and Spencer share twin looks of amusement at his reaction.

“Debby Downer?” He repeats dubiously, raising an eyebrow at Emily.

“Would Annoying Aaron work better?” The older girl retorts, sticking her tongue out childishly for good measure. The entire room erupts into laughter at that, only exacerbated by the way Hotch’s face reddens considerably. 

“Ooh! Or Aggressive Aaron!” JJ adds with a similar smirk, wandering into the room with Rossi following behind, the two of them already dressed and prepared to venture outside for the aforementioned surprise. Spencer does his best to stifle his laughter at Hotch’s deepening glare, but Derek and Penelope don’t bother to try and conceal their amusement at the sight.

“How about Harsh Hotch?” Alex suggests teasingly, her grin growing as the entire room witnesses Hotch throwing up his hands in mock surrender before attempting to push past the horde gathered in the living room to get to his bedroom.

“Or Anal—“ Rossi begins, but that’s about as much as he manages to get out before he’s interrupted not only by a roar of laughter from the entire room, but a shout of protest from Hotch as well.

“Okay!” The older boy interjects “We’re done with this joke!” He orders instantly before turning on his heel and stomping the rest of the way down the hall to their bedroom, presumably to grab his coat (or avoid the chaotic laughter still coursing through the entire room).

“Whatever you say…” Rossi beams, his voice still loud enough for Hotch to hear down the hall. “...Humorless Hotch.” He quips, earning a new round of rapturous laughter from the entire room and a pronounced groan of exasperation from Hotch in the room over.

Spencer tries to tone down his excitement as much as possible as he scrambles off of the couch and heads to slip into his own coat, but for some reason the smile just won’t leave his face. There’s something he’s definitely not used to.

xxx

“So, where are we going?” 

He’s trailing them as Derek and Penelope lead the way down the street. They’ve only been walking from the parking lot for about two or so minutes, but their current surroundings don’t exactly propose any major clues to what the surprise is. The sun has almost completely set behind the mountain ranges, leaving the dim glow of the street lamps to guide their way through the dusk. The briskness of the mid-winter air bites at his nose and cheeks, but it’s more of a pleasant breeze than the whipping winds that assault him every morning at the bus stop. He can see all of their breath swirling in the early evening sky. 

“You’ll see.” Derek taunts, a knowing smirk on his face as they continue forward. The dirt lot they parked Alex and Elle’s cars in (they had to split into two separate vehicles in order to get everyone to the undisclosed location) was relatively crowded which suggests that there’s some sort of event happening, but for as hard as Spencer wracks his brain for the possible answer he can’t seem to conjure one up. He knows from geographical memory that they’re about two miles away from David’s house, but that doesn’t really clue him into anything major.

“Can you give me a hint?” He ventures slyly, making his steps intentionally line up with Alex’s strides as they walk forward.

“The hint is: be patient and you’ll see.” Emily teases, reaching over to flick the back of his head with her opposite arm. He rolls his eyes, resigning to stick his tongue out at her rather than conjure up a witty remark to respond with. If he’s being honest, he’s still a little tired from the day’s events and the fact that he received about four hours total of sleep the entire night due to his recurring nightmares. If Hotch’s stifled yawns are any indication, his older brother isn’t too keen on staying out all night either. 

Still, he does appreciate the lengths they’re all going to in order to cheer him up. It’s probably worth mentioning that all of them just being together and getting along is comforting enough, but he’s also intrigued by the premise of a surprise to go along with their plans.

“Wait, I can kind of see it from here!” JJ exclaims from over his left shoulder. Eager to see what she’s referring to, he cranes his neck to follow her gaze but before he can catch a glimpse of what’s in her sight line, he feels considerably larger hands come over his face to cover his eyes.

“Hey!” He protests with a slight laugh, attempting to frantically twist out of whoever just decided to temporarily blind him.

“What do you think the point of a surprise is, kid?” Rossi quips, his voice close enough to suggest that he’s the one who placed his hands over Spencer’s eyes. Spencer merely stops walking right in the middle of the gravel path, causing Rossi to run into him and nearly trip.

“Well I can’t walk if I can’t see.” He jokes, hearing the emphasized exasperation in David’s groan and the muffled laughter of Alex to his right.

“I’m gonna murder you all if we don’t keep moving.” Hotch mutters. Before Spencer can offer up a protest that they would still be moving if Rossi would just let him see, he feels a second pair of arms grab him underneath his armpits and pull him upwards with an embarrassing ease.

“Put me down, Hotch!” He groans as his oldest brother lifts him up and situates him so his front half is hanging off of Hotch’s shoulder, his eyes trained on the path below and nothing else.

“I think we should restrict Spencer from surprises for the rest of his life if he’s just gonna spoil them for himself.” Alex pipes up. If he was in a less compromising position at the moment he would definitely be moving to glare at his friend for that comment.

“Seconded.” Hotch groans, barely flinching at the weight of Spencer’s figure draped over his shoulder like a slightly larger sack of potatoes. 

“Thirded!” Penelope adds cheerfully from the front of their group.

“That’s not even a word.” Spencer grumbles, hanging his head as they continue forward. A minute or so passes before the gravel path gradually begins to turn into a grassy knoll and he can hear the evidence of a crowd present, piquing his curiosity even more.

“Alright, you can put him down now.” David permits after a few more yards and the noise of the crowd grows louder as they approach their secret destination. Spencer feels his stomach flip with excitement as Hotch bends down a few feet to allow him to stand on his own two feet. He twists around immediately, eager to see what the possible commotion is about. 

His eyes widen at the sight before him.

They’re standing in what appears to be a relatively spacious community park in the center of Rossi’s admittedly very well-off area. There’s been a makeshift stage constructed from wooden planks that everyone in the crowd is focused on and their faces are all illuminated from the gentle glow emanating off of one of the largest and most intricately decorated Christmas trees Spencer has ever seen. He immediately breaks out into a huge grin at the sight of the nearly 50-foot tall Douglas Fir, strung up with lights of differing sizes and what has to be hundreds of ornaments hanging off of the emerald green branches.

“Whoa.” He breathes in disbelief at the sight, barely registering the gentle chuckles of his siblings and friends around him as he takes in the sight of the massive tree, absolutely transfixed by the glimmering lights that contrast the dusk sky.

“Whoa is right,” Rossi chuckles from over his shoulder, following his gaze to the massive Christmas tree on the stage. A group of carolers hums a familiar Christmas arrangement over the thrum of the crowd, adding to the wintery ambiance of the pleasant scene. “Our neighborhood does this tree lighting every year, figured it would be cool to come check it out for once.” The older boy shrugs sheepishly, shoving his gloved hands into the front pockets of his jeans. Spencer glances up over his shoulder, shooting Rossi an appreciative grin.

“Thank you,” He sighs happily, unable to wipe the joy from his face as he takes in the sight of the rest of his siblings and friends enjoying the presence of the sight. “All of you.” He adds meaningfully, feeling no need to elaborate further. They know what he means without his usual rambling or extensive vocabulary. Sometimes, there were only so many words he needed to use.

“You’re welcome, Spence.” Alex grins back, allowing her hand to rest on his shoulder as the warmth spreads through his body. They all settle into a companionable silence afterwards, just relaxing to enjoy each other’s company and the sight of the Christmas tree before them. Rossi, Emily, and Elle end up leaving after a few minutes to retrieve some hot chocolate for everyone from one of the vendor carts nearby, but nothing could pull him from his trance as he basked in the gentle, reassuring glow of the massive tree and it’s twinkling lights. 

It was cliche, sure, but the imagery of that tree looming over them and protecting them with those thousands of lights on the brisk winter evening was reassurance. Reassurance that everything would truly be okay no matter what followed in the coming months. Reassurance that he could brave whatever dangers accosted him. Reassurance that they could get through anything as long as they had one another. 

They would always have each other.

xxx

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you were able to enjoy this chapter!! Please let me know what you thought I love to hear from you guys!!


	27. but your love’s too good to lose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! A new chapter! Thanks to everybody who read/commented on chapter 26!! I really appreciate it and i love to hear from you guys. I hope you all enjoyed!! So here’s chapter 27. Please comment down below with what you thought and thanks so much for reading!! Also thanks as always to kk, erin, noelle, and rachel for always hyping me up, inspiring me, and motivating me to write.
> 
> My tumblr is @doctcrspencerreid if you wanna follow! I’m always down to talk!!!
> 
> Disclaimer: aspects of this work bear similarities to the separate publication “Patron Saint of Lost Causes”. the author of this work attributes the content in this chapter to the correct source (@themetaphorgirl). Publication of this work is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not replace the intellectual property of the above source. This work is intended for personal, non-commercial use only and the author attributes subsequently reproduced or reconstructed concepts to the original source, all rights reserved.

There are very few things in life that Aaron Hotchner could be considered legitimately afraid of. 

Shelving his childhood anxieties relating to the darker, buried memories he chose to tuck neatly away in hidden compartments of his mind, the list was rather limited. Of course there was always the overwhelming apprehension that he would somehow screw one of his siblings up with his overbearing and naturally protective nature, but they all seemed to be doing pretty all right for the most part. 

There were fears that bordered on irrational, such as the all encompassing anxiety that consumed him when he pondered the concept of somehow being removed from his family and forced out onto the streets or a different foster home, but it became pretty apparent years ago that their poor excuse for a foster father only volunteered to home them for the supplemental government checks they provided, so he didn’t really need to worry much about suddenly having the floor ripped out from underneath him. 

There was also the fact that he wasn’t really the world’s biggest fan of centipedes, but nobody on Earth knew of that secret (save for Penelope who had burst into laughter whenever she saw him for days following the incident of walking in on him trying to work up the courage to smash the offending creature in the bathroom one day).

There wasn’t much to be afraid of, really. He was rather adept at handling himself and his siblings, and he had discovered long ago that harboring useless anxieties didn’t do anything except hinder his ability to provide for and protect his family. He didn’t have time to be afraid of anything.

Of course, all of that rationale flew right out the window of Costa Azul the second Haley Brooks walked in on that gloomy, Tuesday afternoon.

He was so shocked he nearly dropped the plastic basket of tortilla chips and Pico de Gallo he was handling for table 4. She didn’t exactly look enthralled to see him either, and Aaron could unfortunately understand why her usual exuberant grin and sparkling eyes were replaced with a deep, accusatory scowl. Mainly because he was the reason.

To say that he had been ignoring her since the incident wasn’t entirely accurate. More like going completely out of his way to avoid her at all costs and purposefully not responding to the abundance of text messages she had sent him over the last few days. Although, to his credit, he had explained to her immediately after taking Spencer back home that Thursday afternoon that he would probably need a few days to recuperate with his family, suggesting that he wouldn’t exactly be available anytime soon. Well that was mostly true as well, it certainly didn’t account for the entire range of emotions he had been experiencing.

He had tried to ignore the obvious implications surrounding what she had said on that fateful afternoon as they frantically began their search for Spencer, but it had lingered in his mind like the remnants of a once-familiar melody, refusing to leave even if he gave in and humored the possibilities of what it could mean. Throughout juggling the responsibilities of taking care of Spencer following the attack, going to work, and making sure that their household still functioned, his entire mind had remained fixated on that statement she had uttered so regretfully right outside the science wing before they made their way in a panicked sprint down to the track field.

_ “Oh gosh, Aaron. I know where he is.” _

No matter what he tried, it refused to leave the forefront of his mind. Haunting him like the ghosts of his past once did. Between finding and untying Spencer, filling out a frenzied report with Gideon whilst trying to calm down his youngest brother from the brink of a panic attack, and dealing with the repercussions of Derek’s suspension from fighting, he hadn’t exactly had the time to contact her either and attempt to get a straight answer out of his girlfriend. Not that he was too excited about that prospect either. The conversation was one he had been dreading for days now, but he also knew it probably needed to happen; if only to quell the constant drumming of his heart and the stabs of guilt that wracked his body whenever he let another text message of hers go unread. 

However, that didn’t mean he wanted to have the conversation at his place of work where he was currently setting down two extremely hot plates of inauthentic enchiladas in front of one of the few tables they had full that afternoon. 

He tries not to catch her eye as he immediately retreats back into the confines of the front counter, heading straight to Rossi who was finishing up placing an order with a new customer at the register.

“Did you tell her I was gonna be here today?” Hotch demands curtly as soon as David pulls a few medium drink cups down and passes them over to the couple in front of the register. Rossi merely shoots him a bemused glance, seeking clarification for who the ‘her’ Hotch was referring to was. Hotch jerks his head in as subtle a manner he can compose over to Haley who still lingers by the front door, pretending to be invested in a text conversation on her phone, her soft blonde hair tucked into the back of her scarf, her thumbs clumsily trying to navigate the screen of her phone through her light blue gloves. He feels a twinge of remorse at the sight of his girlfriend and a swell of guilt at the fact that he had been so ardently ignoring her pleas to talk for days now. Jesus, this wasn’t going to be any fun.

“Ohhh,” Rossi vocalizes in understanding, realizing at once who he was referring to. “Yeah. I did,” He confirms bluntly, sending a backwards glance towards the kitchen to see if they were preparing the next take-out order yet. Hotch sputters, at a complete loss for words at the confession. Rossi, however, merely rolls his eyes in what seemed to be mock exasperation. “You’ve been moping around for like four days now, dude, it’s depressing,” He scoffs, shooting Hotch a deadpan look. “I swear if I have to hear ‘Haley this’ or ‘Haley that’ one more time, I’m gonna imp- _ hale _ myself.” David jokes, emphasizing his pun as much as possible to try and draw a reaction other than disappointed scowl out of Hotch.

Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t work.

“Get it? Imp- _ hale _ ?” He repeats with an insufferable smirk, brown eyes flickering in unbridled amusement at Hotch’s unwavering glare. “Like impale? But with her name instead?” He chuckles, clearly only doing so to get a rise out of Hotch. “Ah, you get it.” David beams, delighting in Aaron’s aggravated stance. Before his friend can get another pun out, Hotch turns on the heel of his non-slip restaurant shoe and heads over towards his girlfriend, untying his black waist apron in the process. It’s just about time for his lunch break anyway, why not spend it engaging in the one conversation he had been dreading for half a week now?

As soon as he’s within a few feet of her, he feels the pounding of his heart increase tenfold. However, it’s not the same exhilarated sensation that courses through his body whenever he’s in close proximity to her or when she leans in to initiate a kiss. Instead, it’s more akin to the feeling of unmitigated dread he experienced when he witnessed Spencer tied to that lamppost, slumped over limply like a corpse in the late afternoon sun. He gets the sudden urge to turn around and head right back to the guarded confines of the kitchen under the guise of needing to get back to work, but he knows damn well that Rossi would never stand for his cowardice and would most likely throw him back out to the proverbial wolves without any remorse.

No, he has to face this here and now, even if he feels as though he’s about to vomit up the stale tortilla chips he ate on his fifteen minute break a few hours ago.

“Hey.” He breathes, his hands hiding themselves furtively in the pockets of his work slacks. Haley glances up at him, already having pocketed her phone with ease. Her face seems so fragile and innocent, almost as if it were crafted of pure porcelain and ceramic, like he could say one wrong thing and she would break into a million pieces at his cutting words. He doesn’t want to break her though, nor to cause her any of the same distress he’s been working through for the past few days. That was primarily the reason he had ignored her so diligently. 

“Hi.” She sighs, her voice riddled with a mix of relief and concern. She timidly brushes a lock of hair behind her ear with a gloved hand. He pretends not to notice the trembling of her movement, but the sight does help to calm his own nerves slightly. If she was just as nervous about the conversation that was a good sign, right? 

“You wanna head outside?” He offers after a beat of silence, gesturing towards the glass door she stands a few feet away from. He’s not too sure how their conversation is about to transpire and he’d really prefer to talk away from the public eye of the restaurant’s limited patronage and Rossi. She merely provides a plaintive nod in acquiescence and he follows her from the harsh overhead fluorescent lighting of the Mexican restaurant into the dismal looking afternoon. The drab grey storm clouds and biting mid-winter chill that whips across his face almost directly mirror the way his current emotional state. They pace for a few yards before she finally chooses a spot on the sidewalk adjacent to Costa Azul, wrapping her arms around her figure shakily. He feels a temporary pang of guilt, wishing he had his sweatshirt to offer her despite the fact that she’s way better equipped for the bitter winter breeze than he is in his basic work outfit.

Finally, he pulls his gaze away from the gloomy picture of their setting and refocuses on his girlfriend, taking in the sight of her furrowed brow and the way her arms shield her body in a tight grip. Although he hasn’t known Haley for more than two and a half months, he had never witnessed her standing so pensively in unobstructed thought. Her perpetually bright demeanor was clouded with an air of doubt and trepidation regarding their current situation. He steadies himself with a deep exhale, preparing to kick off the conversation he had been dreading for days.

“So I wanted to—“

“You’ve got a little bit of—“ 

They cut each other off within the same moment, fumbling over their words with obvious reluctance as they both try to dive right in without finding their footing first. She ends up chuckling slightly, but his cheeks merely redden as he realizes his mistake and he ducks his head to avoid her gaze. 

“Sorry, you go.” She advises, the lilting melody of her voice floating on the air like fallen snowflakes in a flurry. His dark eyes trail back up to find her face, so familiar yet so foreign amidst the anxieties that overwhelm in. He wants to find that same comfort in her features that he felt just a few days prior in the safety of their backstage hideaway, when she told him to shut his eyes and imagine his life ten years in the future, but he can’t bring himself to picture that moment without also reliving the apprehension that accompanied just minutes following when he realized that his youngest brother was in trouble. He wants things to fall back into place and to let the dust settle, but he can’t ignore what he heard.

“No, no you go first.” He permits gently, attempting to reassure her with a faint smile that she hesitantly returns. They’re stepping around each other with the same caution that two complete strangers would on a customary first date and he hates that more than anything. 

“I was just gonna say you’ve got a little bit of lettuce on your shirt.” She points out with a light chuckle, nodding towards his plain white work-issued button down. His gaze lingers to the spot she’s referencing right above his name tag pin and he notices the piece of shredded lettuce before flicking it away. 

“Thanks,” He exhales, refocusing on her once more before launching into the spiel he had practiced diligently in the shower for this upcoming argument, preparing himself for what to say if she decided to show up and demand counsel. Like, right now, for instance. “Okay, so I think first of all we need to address a few things that have most likely been concerning both of us these past few days—“ He begins, proceeding with an air of formality that clearly doesn’t fit the tone Haley’s going for because she cuts him off with a small chuckle not even a minute into his spiel.

“Aaron.” She interjects firmly, but her eyes suggest that she isn’t upset with him. Which, admittedly, is a huge relief.

“Yeah?” 

“Just relax,” she exhales softly. He watches with a hint of curiosity as her hand moves across the open air with confident fluidity to grab hold of one of his, dangling outside the warm safety of his pockets. She’s still wearing her gloves, the polyester wool fabric of the light blue material scratches against his calloused hands, worn from the hour he spent washing dishes in the back earlier that day before their lunch rush. “It’s me. Nothing bad’s gonna happen if you let your guard down for a few minutes.” She soothes, her voice washing over him like a calming wave. He lets out a breath he was barely aware he was still holding in and gives a single nod. She’s right in a way. Haley is one of the few people he trusts to fully relax around, dropping the preconceived serious facade and allowing himself to show the side that he hides away at school or work. Haley knows more about him than certain blood relatives currently do, so why is he so on edge around her all of a sudden? Why does it feel like he barely knows his own girlfriend?

He knows why, but it still doesn’t make it any less painful to come to terms with.

“Yeah, yeah I know,” He murmurs, rubbing his thumb along the indentation of her hand through the dense material of her winter gloves. “Okay. I, um- I’ve been thinking a lot about last Thursday and it-it’s been worrying me,” he admits, translating his already pre-prepared speech into less formal terms to come across more open and vulnerable, even if he doesn’t exactly feel that way. “More specifically, about what you said,” he clarifies, purposefully avoiding her gaze as he loses himself in the mundane task of stroking his thumb up and down the length of her hand. If he fixates on that particular feeling, it’ll make it easier to say what he’s so desperately trying to get out. 

“I think I know what the answer is, but I really don’t want it to be that. I just—“ he mutters before he finds that he physically can’t continue without that foreboding sick sensation creeping through his body. He squeezes his eyes shut, inhaling shakily before attempting to force the remainder of his sentence out. “When we were looking for Spencer and I asked you where Alexa was, how did  _ you _ know where he was gonna be?” He finally questions, the words leaving his mouth about as easily as pulling a tooth. He feels Haley’s grip go slack in his, her hand falling slightly with the rest of her body as her figure deflates. He knows that this has to be as hard for her as it is for him.

“Right,” She chokes out, the labored sound of her speech forcing his eyes open once more. She bites down on her lower lip, worrying the tinted skin between her teeth as she contemplates her answer. “I- this is- Aaron, I want you to listen closely to what I’m about to say to you, because I mean every word of it. I wouldn’t lie to you.” she insists with a slight stammer, removing her hand from its spot within his as she looks up with emphasized intensity. He gives her an encouraging nod, silently willing her to continue before his mind begins filling in the blanks with assumed answers. She takes a steadying inhale to calm her racing heart before continuing forward precariously, keeping her tone cautious and still.

“I, um, I think two weeks ago Alexa and Harper and the rest of the kids in the group started talking in these weird hypotheticals about some sort of plan, but I just figured they were talking about a party or something,” She supplies rapidly, the words tumbling from her lips with ease as she begins to explain. “I tried asking about it but it— I don’t know, when they would ask each other if ‘Owen got the stuff’ or talking about when they’d be free, I just figured they were still talking about throwing a party before break.” She continues, her voice wavering slightly from its usual light tone as she delves into details that he really could’ve gone without hearing. Even the thought of those kids— her friends— discussing their malicious plans for torturing and humiliating an eleven-year-old makes him sick to his stomach. He tries to force down the mental image of Spencer sobbing himself dry in Hotch’s arms just a few days prior as his girlfriend continues her harried explanation.

“So finally last Monday, me, Alexa, and Harper were in the bathroom and I asked them about what they were doing that Thursday that they kept talking about with the guys at lunch, but Alexa kept joking about how I couldn’t keep a secret so she wouldn’t tell me,” Haley rambles, but to her credit she keeps her gaze trained on Hotch’s face the entire time. He’s well equipped to point out inconsistencies in stories or excuses, it comes with the territory of taking care of five kids close by in age and breaking up fight after fight between them all, so he can usually tell when a person is lying based solely off of body language. He can tell without a shadow of a doubt that Haley isn’t obfuscating any aspect of the truth, but that’s not exactly a comforting thought to him as she continues her elaboration of the events. 

“Then Alexa left so it was just me and Harper and I finally got her to break. She told me— she just,” Haley pauses briefly and Hotch hears the nearly imperceptible crack in her voice, revealing the emotion cracking through her well-composed surface. His face falters, a pang of sympathy resonating as he takes in the sight of her trembling hands. “She told me everything they were planning to do,” She whispers, her voice barely audible as it shakes considerably. Suddenly, Hotch doesn’t like the tight feeling invading his chest, almost suffocating him with the weight of her confession. He tries his best to remain vigilant as he processes the depth of her statement, but he figures that his face ends up betraying him because as soon as Haley glances up to take in his features, she begins backpedaling immediately. 

“But I didn’t believe her or anything! I thought she was just— I thought she wanted to— I thought—,” She blurts out, tripping over her own sentences in her panicked state. “I don’t know what I thought,” She admits with a sigh. He wants to reach out and take her hands in his, tell her that it’s all okay and that he’s not angry with her, that she doesn’t need to be afraid of him or his reaction, but he can’t find the energy to make a single move. He can’t even be sure that if he opens his mouth that the words will come out. The intensity of her confession hits him head-on like a semi truck and he stands there, caught in the headlights with no defenses left to protect him. 

“Aaron,” She declares, her voice suddenly gaining some of its familiar confidence back as she addresses him. “I didn’t believe she was serious about going through with something like that, you have to believe me,” Haley asserts firmly, but the gentleness in her eyes doesn’t fade. He does. He believes her, but that doesn’t erase the fact that she still knew.  _ She knew _ . 

He shuts his eyes tight, blocking out the ambient sounds of the world around them with practiced ease, shutting off his senses to retreat into the safe confines of his own mind. Was the ground supposed to be spinning like that, or was that just the feeling that always accompanied overwhelming grief and he never noticed?

He allows a few moments to slip by in uninterrupted silence before he’s able to return to reality, blinking himself back into focus. 

“Yeah. Yeah, Hale, I understand where you’re coming from,” He admits, ignoring the traitorous crack in his voice as he rasps out a response. “But they did go through with it. And you knew,” He points out bluntly, attempting for both of their sakes to keep his tone level and calm. He had experienced a wealth of emotions he hadn’t experienced in literal years over the course of five days, he wasn’t really in the mood to relive any of that in a sketchy looking parking lot in front of his place of work with his girlfriend standing just a few inches away from him. “You knew what they were planning to do to an eleven-year-old kid and you thought it was just some dumb joke. You  _ knew _ .” He repeats, realizing just how asinine the entire situation seemed as soon as he speaks it aloud. 

“Aaron—,” She attempts to interject, but he doesn’t give her the chance. If he doesn’t speak up now he knows the words will just fester inside like a white hot rage, begging to spill over. That was his father’s way of handling things, and he’s not his father. He won’t allow himself to be that way, no matter what Haley did.

“You should’ve told me, Haley,” He murmurs, still in disbelief of the facts he was being presented with. He wishes she were lying to him, covering up for herself or her friends, but he knows she doesn’t have the propensity to sit across from him and feed him a false story to protect her name. Haley isn’t like that. “At the very least you could’ve just mentioned it  _ one _ of the times we were together before that day, but you didn’t,” He scoffs dubiously, mind instantly retracing the multiple times he had seen her in rehearsals or between classes or at her house prior to the day of the incident. “I don’t wanna stand here and make assumptions about you or your thought process, but you had so many opportunities to bring it up.” He points out semi-politely, trying to keep his head as level as possible as he addresses the obvious, attempting futilely to contain his growing infuriation at how easily the entire incident could have been avoided.

It’s ironic, really, that  _ he’s  _ the one lecturing on how simple communication could have solved everything. But he tries not to let the sarcastic acceptance linger as Haley responds dejectedly. 

“I know,” She sighs, her expression dripping with guilt at the realization. “I know and I’m so sorry. I-I just thought she was joking with me, making up all these details to mess with me because Alexa said that I couldn’t keep a secret.” She rambles. He wants to accept the apology, retreat from the bitter cold, and wipe the slate clean; but it doesn’t work like that. Especially not when subtle ignorance puts one of his own in harm’s way. Especially not when it comes to Spencer.

“So you wanted to prove that you could by putting my brother in danger?” He clarifies sarcastically, raising an eyebrow inquisitively. He pushes on before she can interrupt him with defiant protests. “I don’t understand how you could be around them for so long and know what they’re all capable of and just...ignore that somehow.” He adds, shaking his head in slight disbelief. He’s well aware that she is most likely privy to a completely different side of that group, considering that they do happen to be her friends and all, but it still feels as though she’s a completely separate entity. He knows Haley isn’t like the ‘popular’ kids, not with her down-to-earth outlook and kind demeanor. If she was actually one of them she wouldn’t give him the time of day, let alone proudly call him her boyfriend for almost two months. She was different.

Or at least he thought she was.

“I didn’t want this to happen any more than you did!” She asserts, her voice raising slightly above the level tone it had been kept at for their entire conversation thus far. “I love Spencer and I love your family and I would  _ never  _ want to see them hurt,” She adds, injecting as much meaning into her tone as possible. This time, she reaches out with both of her gloved hands to grab a hold of his, the touch instantly warming his fingers from the biting chill of nature that surrounds them like a thick layer of ice. “I know I should’ve come to you but they make these jokes or empty threats constantly and never carry them out. I just thought it was the same as that— some dumb hypothetical prank that they were never going to go through with.” She admits, grasping his hands tightly in her own as she maintains her position of blissful ignorance.

That’s the problem with ignorance though. Is that turning the blind eye doesn’t help those who need it, and that it comes at a price. He loved Haley, but with her privilege and the life she led, there was no way she could ever see things from his position. 

“Then why do you hang out with them?” He deadpans, the question relatively simply despite its weight. 

He watches with intense focus as her face falters as the inquiry, her grasp slackening slightly as she releases her grip on his hands. 

“I—I don’t— what?” She stammers, furrowing her brow at the accusation. He feels slightly sympathetic for posing such a heavily connoted question, but it’s completely necessary. At least he feels like it is. 

“Haley,” he begins, countering her confusion as he takes the reins of the conversation from her. “Why do you care so much about how the rest of the world sees you?” He scoffs, her hands completely falling from his grasp as she processes the question. He can see her nose and cheeks growing slightly rosy, but whether that’s from the invasive cold that encompasses them or the embarrassment, he doesn’t know. Nevertheless, he continues his line of questioning, growing slightly bolder as he persists.

“If your friends are the kind of people making threats against an eleven-year-old, why are they still your friends?” He prompts, not expecting an answer. Haley regards him speechlessly, clearly unsure of how to proceed or whether or not she should answer. “Hale, you’re one of the best things to ever happen to me. You’re so kind and smart and beautiful— inside and out. Everyone else around you can see the same things I can, so why do you need the validation of being their friend?” He implores, seeing the doubt and confusion scrawled across her delicate expression as he presses onward without fear. “I want to understand what you see in a group of people that make jokes about beating up a kid or tying him to a lamp post,” He scoffs ruefully, the words tasting like venom as they leave his mouth. Her cerulean eyes waver as she regards him with a bemused, contemplative glance. He heaves a deep sigh before continuing, wanting to emphasize his point as much as possible to his girlfriend.

“You’re not like them,” He informs her honestly, scanning her face for a sign of recognition of his words. “And you never have been.” He adds, shaking his head slightly. 

For a moment, the only noise that permeates their tense atmosphere is the sound of nature’s quiet ambiance that surrounds them. Haley stiffens, but her defensive stance isn’t to protect herself from the winter chill. She reaches up tentatively, brushing a lock of soft blonde hair behind her ear from where it's fallen over her shoulder. Her movements are fragile, concise, and calculated. They serve as a stark contrast to the stuttering confession that leaves her mouth immediately after.

“I— I don’t, I—,” She stammers out, her voice shaking as if she’s teetering on the edge of collapse. She squeezes her eyes shut tightly, sealing herself off from his invasive stare for just a second. “I don’t know.” She admits, her volume barely rising above a whisper as she hangs her head dejectedly. The look is not entirely unfamiliar to him, but he tries his best to shove down the rising guilt as he regards her. In fact, perhaps his mistake was allowing himself to be so vulnerable in the first place with somebody so ridiculously out of his league. How could he expect the answer he needed to hear if she hadn’t seen things from his perspective? How could she possibly understand where he was coming from while she stood with her feet firmly planted in two different worlds, while he was confined to one?

Why did he ever let himself hope for somebody like Haley Brooks?

“Yeah,” He nods curtly, unsure of what else to say in their peculiar situation. He feels the exhaustion from a strenuous conversation and a grueling workday invade his senses, reminding him of just how ill-prepared he was emotionally to handle such an encounter. Maybe it was time to throw in the towel. “Okay.” He concludes with marginal indifference. He doesn’t want her to leave her standing out on that dismal stretch of sidewalk in the bitter cold, but if she had nothing else to say, there was nothing else to say. He turns on his heel, fully intent on heading back inside the confines of his place of work to escape from the breeze that assaults his bare face, but she reaches out with a shout of despair before he can take a single step.

“Aaron!” She chides with a slight groan, the confidence returning to her voice in full force as he focuses down on her. “We’re sixteen! We’re allowed to hang out with people we don’t actually like and go to stupid house parties and get drunk,” She reminds him bluntly, her tone growing argumentative as she reluctantly releases her tight grip around his wrist. “We’re supposed to make bad decisions and regret them later on. It’s okay not to base your entire life around being right or responsible for everybody else’s actions all the time,” She admonishes, a mirthless laugh of disbelief escaping her lips. He doesn’t react— or rather, he doesn’t know how to. “I  _ know _ I made an awful mistake, but that doesn’t make me a terrible person for hanging out with the wrong people. You’re allowed to be sixteen and just...mess things up sometimes.” She concludes, reaching up to cup his cheek in her hand as she does so. 

Her words echo in his skull, resonating at increasing volume as he repeats them involuntarily.  _ You’re allowed to be sixteen. You’re allowed to be a kid. You’re allowed to relax. _ It’s what every person on Earth has been telling him even since he was young.  _ Don’t be so serious, Aaron. Why don’t you ever play with the other kids, Aaron? What’s your problem, Aaron?  _ But he wasn’t like them, no matter how hard he tried to be. Even at a young age, the responsibility he didn’t ask for fell on his shoulders in the form of protecting Sean and his mother from the blind, drunken rage of an uncaring father. At twelve, he met Derek and realized that he had to live to protect, not for his own survival. He couldn’t carry on by himself. With the addition of JJ and Spencer who were no more than mere children when he met them, the task of raising them fell onto his plate. Emily and Penelope’s presence was taken in stride, but he had to add having a job to his already stressful schedule in order to provide for all of them and allow them to lead some semblance of a normal life. 

He couldn’t be what Haley wanted. He couldn’t be what Gideon asked him to be. He couldn’t be the perfect son or strong older brother. All he could do was try and protect his family, but in a way, he had even failed at that. 

“I-I’m not like you, Haley,” He stammers out, ignoring the rising lump in his throat as her glove-clad hand falls from its resting place on his cheek. “I can’t just throw caution to the wind whenever I feel like it because I don’t have caution to spare,” He responds, fixating on anything other than the helpless way she’s gazing up at him. “I know I’m supposed to be sixteen and do things like sneak into empty theatres with you or go to parties without constantly thinking about the consequences, but I’m not like that,” He scoffs without humor, passing an agitated hand through his hair. “I-I can’t be like that,” he asserts, although his voice is so soft he doubts it’s audible over the environmental noise of their setting. Finally, he allows his eyes to trail up from the concrete sidewalk below to meet her fragile, unblinking gaze. He figures he owes her at least that much.

“I thought we could make this work despite that, but I don’t know anymore.” He sighs, his body working on its own volition to get the words out.

“Are you—?” Haley chokes out, her voice hitching slightly as he regards him with shocked disbelief. He doesn’t know what else to tell her. There’s nothing left to say. Except for the truth.

“I-I think so,” he acquiesces gently, the pain ripping through his chest as though he’d just been shot. However, after mere seconds it settles into a numb dullness, nothing more than a familiar twinge in the pit of his stomach. “I can’t just move past this. I have to put my family first.” He informs her hating the emotional break in his voice as he speaks. His grief only intensifies as he spares another stolen glance at her, the unshed tears in her eyes threatening to spill over. He wants nothing more than to tell her that he’ll be okay, they’ll forgive and forget, and she can come over that night for dinner, but it doesn’t work like that. He can’t afford the luxury of forgetting.

“I understand,” She murmurs, clearly attempting to hold back tears as she fights through her own emotions. “I do. Can I just ask you something first?” Haley implores, her bottom lip quivering with the rest of her body as she regards him with weary indifference. 

He nods, but doesn’t find the strength within him to muster up a real response beyond that. 

“When are you going to put yourself first?”

He reaches forward, crossing the invisible threshold between them without hesitation. Inwardly, he wonders when the divide became a mile long rather than just a few inches, but he pushes his fear from his mind as he wraps his now ex-girlfriend in a gentle embrace. Her head rests on his shoulder as her arms wrap around his torso, squeezing tightly as if she’ll never let go. But, it’s not right. It’s not the way it felt just a few days ago and he doubts it’ll ever feel that way again. He doesn’t answer her question with words, but he knows that she knows what he means. She doesn’t need an answer to know. 

A minute or so passes as they continue to cling to each other. But the barrier between reality and fantasy can’t last forever and he pulls back, reluctantly freeing himself from the embrace. For her sake, he pretends not to notice as she surreptitiously wipes her sleeve across her face. He feels a singular chill run down his spine, but he knows it’s not from the bitter cold. It’s the sensation of grief.

“I have to get back to work, my break is almost up,” He rasps. Haley merely nods, refusing to meet his gaze in her slightly embarrassed state. He can’t blame her either. “Bye, Haley.” He murmurs in what is hopefully a proper farewell. It’s not the end, but it’s certainly not an invitation to continue. He knows he’ll still see her around and it’ll hurt like hell for weeks to come, but he’s dealt with pain before. He can handle himself.

However, he can’t ignore the way his heart feels like it rips in two as she spares a final glance up at him.

“Bye, Aaron.” She whispers through her burgeoning tears. 

He doesn’t stick around to see if they fall or not. He can’t. Instead, he shoves his hands back into the safe confines of his pockets and bows his head slightly to shield from the breeze, making his way in quick strides back up to the front of Costa Azul. He pushes the door open with heavy reluctance, but he doesn’t spare a backwards glance at the girl he fully believed he was falling in love with. 

There are very few things in life that Aaron Hotchner could be considered legitimately afraid of. But, without a shadow of a doubt, one of them was the way he felt for Haley Brooks. 

“Hey.” Rossi greets plaintively as Hotch returns dutifully to his place behind the front counter, fastening his apron around his waist with deft ease as he does so. Hotch barely looks up as he takes a steadying breath, reinserting himself into the headspace he needs to be in so that he can function for the remainder of his shift. 

“Hey.” He responds curtly, tightening his jaw as he greets his best friend’s sympathetic stare with a steely gaze. David surveys his expression with obvious reluctance, but Aaron doesn’t do piteous glances or words of affirmation. At least, not from anybody except for Haley.

“You’re gonna be okay, man,” Rossi scoffs, passing him a sanitized rag as he begins wiping the trace amounts of spilled food from their main counter. “You’re the strongest guy I know. You’ll bounce back in no time with me as your wingman.” He quips in his usual sardonic manner. Hotch knows Rossi is using his humor as a way to cope, but he can’t even muster a compliant laugh at his best friend’s well meaning joke. He merely stares down at the sopping wet rag in his hand, eyes tracing over the fibers in the material with unbridled focus. After a worrying beat of silence, he pulls his gaze up to meet David’s concerned glance.

“Dave?” He murmurs, the cracks in his armor evident as his voice wavers slightly.

“Yeah?” The other boy questions, pausing in his action of wiping down the counter to regard Hotch with his full attention. 

“I miss her.” Aaron reveals. He doesn’t continue, afraid of how his emotions could betray him if he did. Besides, what else is there to say on the matter? Hesitantly, he risks a sidelong glance outside of the storefront window to see whether or not she’s somehow still rooted to that sidewalk a few yards away from the restaurant. If she’s stuck around for just a few minutes longer. If he can see her just one more time before the reality of their situation settles in.

But, Haley Brooks is gone, and he’s the one who’s driven her away for good. In her place, nothing remains but the gaping hole in his heart that threatens to rip him in two. She’s really gone and all he can do is miss her.

xxx

_ ‘Don't ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody.’ _ -J.D. Salinger, Catcher in the Rye

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO SAD :’((( but don’t worry......there are still a few chapters to go so who knows?? things might work out for them!! Thanks SO much for reading and please leave a comment with what you thought! I hope you enjoyed!!! ALSO I PROMISE NEXT CHAPTER HAS NO ANGST I SWEAR ITLL BE A HAPPY ONE


	28. chapter 28

this is NOT an update (yet) but i swear im working on it. i just wanted to let you all know how things are going / why everything is moving so slowly right now. I just started my freshman year of college about three weeks ago and I am....so exhausted. I’m double majoring in bioengineering and mathematics and nobody told me that this would be a hard thing to do. Additionally, I work 25 hours a week and spend about 6-7 hours every night doing homework/studying! I’m taking 19 credit hours for my first semester while balancing everything else in my life, so unfortunately I’ve had about 0 time in my life to write which is so so sad. I only have about an hour of free time each day and I usually use that time to study Supreme Court cases for fun. So I am so sorry but for the next few weeks there probably will not be an update unless I suddenly quit my job or my professors decide to stop assigning homework. BUT I SWEAR that I’m not leaving this story unfinished, I just have to learn time management skills first and I promise that the story will be completed soon. I’ve had the last few chapters planned out since the very beginning and I know you guys are gonna love them because there is such a happy ending for everyone, even if it takes some pain to get there. I’m so sorry for not updating but college is??? So hard??? And I didn’t think it would be but here we are lmao. Just stem major problems I guess lol. ANYWAY thank you for taking the time to read this if u did and thank you for supporting this story. I love you all and I promise there will be an update as soon as my life stops being fuckinf insane all the time. I LOVE YOU ALL


	29. living for the day, worries far away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ:
> 
> Hiiiii. ok so i know it’s been a hot minute but here’s chapter 28! i finally did it!!! i have no idea how but it’s here. im still insanely busy with school and work so there most likely won’t be another update until my winter break next month but who knows?? anyway this is the Thanksgiving chapter and honestly im kind of glad i waited to finish this one because it was originally gonna be posted back in september when i was still writing but the vibes would have been off. but now it’s November! so hence i can finally break out the thanksgiving chapter ive had planned. i hope you all enjoy and thank you so much to everyone who’s stuck around and kept reading despite my insane hiatus :,) as always special thanks to The Slommies for always encouraging and inspiring me and if you wanna hmu on tumblr im @doctcrspencerreid! thanks and enjoy the chapter!

“Really?  _ That’s _ how you’re gonna make the stuffing?”

At the sudden intrusion of his sister’s voice, Hotch tears his critical gaze away from the directions printed on the side of the box he’s examining. He follows Emily’s assuming stare to the saucepan he has resting on their shoddy electrical stove, his eyebrows knitting in concern immediately.

“What? What’s wrong with my stuffing?” He demands, placing the box he’d been reading down on the hideously over-crowded countertop. He tries his best to keep the biting exasperation from his tone but it proves to be increasingly difficult, especially considering the insane amounts of stress he’s been under since the second he woke up that morning. Emily, however, barely regards his obvious impatience before she responds.

“Nothing, it's just...not how I would do it, that’s all.” She huffs, a minuscule smirk crossing her face. Hotch knows that she’s intentionally trying to mess with him and put him further on edge, that’s basically Emily’s signature move whenever she sees him agitated, but he can’t refrain from responding with an equally sarcastic remark. 

“Please, enlighten me on how to properly prepare stuffing from a box. I’m begging you.” He deadpans, a stoic glare forming to contrast with Emily’s light smile and mischievous gaze. He’s really not in the mood for her (or anybody else’s) shenanigans that afternoon. 

“Ease up, Hotchner. Who spit in your stuffing today?” Rossi quips from his position of leaning on their counter. Emily takes the momentary distraction to slink away from the conversation and Hotch’s burgeoning anger as he focuses on David, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Hilarious,” He basically snarls at Rossi’s amused glance. His best friend merely scoffs lightly, unaffected by his harsh tone or impudence. “Sorry,” Hotch adds soberly, realizing that he probably shouldn’t be taking his pent up rage out on his friends for no good reason. Even if said friends have a tendency to push all the wrong buttons while he’s attempting to balance everything all at once on one of the most stressful days of the year. “I just want everything to go alright today, is that too much to ask?” He groans, abandoning the box of stuffing he had been surveying prior to Emily’s snarky interruption as he turns to meet Rossi as the island counter. 

At this point, he should probably have Thanksgiving down to a science. He’s only been organizing the celebration for a few years now, but it’s usually always the same formula. He doesn’t know the first thing about preparing a turkey (not to mention the outrageous prices for the bird) so on the day of Thanksgiving he and Emily work together to prepare a chicken for their meal as an ample substitution. The rest of their family handles the smaller side dishes via precise instructions he lays out the night prior for them to follow. That’s all it ever is, but somehow he can always rely on something disastrous to occur no matter what. Last year it was Penelope almost scorching her eyebrows off when she attempted to remove the green bean casserole from the oven. The year prior resulted in a trip to the emergency room when JJ got food poisoning from her own undercooked pie. In theory, a simple, laid-back Thanksgiving celebration probably shouldn’t constitute the end of the world for all of them, but considering their track record he wouldn’t be surprised if a meteor decided to strike them dead right in the middle of dinner that evening. 

“With Derek on yams? Yeah, that’s probably too ambitious.” JJ quips in passing as she makes her way back to the kitchen from the living room. He barely has time to process his youngest sister’s answer to his rhetorical question before frantically responding.

“No, Derek’s supposed to be on cranberry sauce and that’s it,” He groans, eyes scanning their cramped kitchen to see where his brother is. “He’s not allowed to touch the— Derek!” He exclaims, whipping back around just in time to catch Derek removing the glassware dish of unfortunately blackened looking yams from their oven. 

“What?” His brother retorts, setting the casserole dish down to cook on the stovetop adjacent to Hotch’s saucepan of water for the stuffing mix. Hotch groans, immediately reaching over to turn on the oven fan to avoid burning their entire house down from Derek’s failed side-dish experiment (although it would be incredibly on-brand for their rather chaotic Thanksgiving celebrations anyway).

“The yams are supposed to be orange, not burnt to a fiery crisp!” He snaps, doing his best to ignore Penelope and Rossi’s amused chuckles from behind him as he tends to the mess. Derek merely shrugs, looking absolutely unapologetic about the whole situation.

“Okay, but hear me out,” his younger brother begins, holding up his hands in mock surrender as Hotch shoots him a glowering look. “You said to bake them for 10 minutes at 400 degrees, so-“ Derek explains before Hotch cuts him off with a monotone retort.

“Never said that.” He denies, physically restraining himself from rolling his eyes at Derek’s mischievous grin.

“Okay,  _ someone _ said to bake them for ten minutes at 400 degrees,” his brother scoffs, clearly delighting in pushing Hotch’s buttons as much as possible— a trait he had probably adopted from Emily that morning. “So I figured if I just upped the temperature a  _ little _ then-“ he rationalizes, but barely gets to finish his idiotic claims before Spencer, wielding a fistful of silverware to set the table with skirts by.

“Not how a conventional oven works.” The kid responds in passing, ducking underneath Hotch’s arm to make his way to the kitchen table to help JJ set up their centerpiece. Hotch takes a steadying inhale, attempting to bar himself from saying anything he’d truly regret to his siblings, especially considering the heightened stress of it all. He drags his palm down the side of his face, hoping to wipe away the traces of exhaustion from his demeanor.

“I told you to take care of the cranberry sauce.” Hotch reminds his brother, his obvious irritation bleeding through in his tone. Derek huffs an impatient sigh, all but completely rolling his eyes in typical teenage fashion as he does so.

“That’s boring!” The younger boy protests boldly. Hotch does his best to ignore Rossi and Emily’s amused chuckles from across the counter, focusing his attention on Derek’s still smoking dish of yams threatening to burn a hole in their countertops. “You just open the can and put the cranberry sauce on a plate and that’s it! Why don’t you make Spence do that?” He groans indignantly, gesticulating towards the youngest member of their family who was currently at Penelope’s side, diligently assisting her in chopping up a pile of green beans for the casserole they had been tasked with preparing.

“Because I don’t try to bake yams for one minute at 4000 degrees Fahrenheit.” Spencer scoffs with ease over his shoulder, earning an unabashed roar of laughter from Rossi and Emily. Hotch merely squeezed his eyes shut tightly, pinching the bridge of his nose in order to try and quell his growing agitation at the matter. 

“Derek— cranberry sauce. And that’s it,” He orders with finality, turning on his heel as he left his brother behind to deal with the still cooling dish of burnt yams. “And please  _ don’t _ put it in the oven.” He adds only half-sarcastically. Honestly, with Derek and Emily’s penchant for messing with him and their petty practical jokes, he’s entirely convinced that they would try a scheme like that just to see him hit the roof.

He grabs a package of wine red disposable napkins on his way out of the overcrowded kitchen, resolving that he needed a breath of fresh air from the oppressive heat of their shared space. Instead, he heads over to the half set dining table and begins to place a few napkins at everyone’s seat, making sure to lay three extra ones down for the guests who would be arriving a little later that afternoon. He’s just about to bend down to straighten out the cheap tablecloth Emily had provided from her antique store when he feels a familiar hand clap his shoulder, startling him enough to drop the packet of paper napkins and cause the remainder of the burgundy squares to flutter to the linoleum tile below in haphazard disarray. 

“Somebody’s a little tense today, huh?” Rossi quips, his teasing smile unmistakable in his tone as he watches Hotch heave an exasperated sigh before bending down to gather the dropped napkins from the floor below.

“Yeah. Sorry, I guess,” He ends up muttering, earning a patronizing stare from his best friend at the lack of a witty remark to combat his own. Hotch sets the rest of the disordered napkins on the table, trying hard to block out the way the room suddenly seems to be spinning so rapidly and Dave’s accusing look. “Look, I just...I want things to be good today. Just for one day, y’know.” He admits earnestly, finally dropping the defensive stance he had been shielding himself with. 

In reality, his defensive nature had been entirely more prominent lately, but it had nothing to do with burnt yams or pumpkin pie or Emily attempting to mutilate their turkey the night prior as it defrosted. Ever since he had broken things off with Haley earlier that week life had just felt so monotonous and dreary. Of course, there was barely time to mourn his freshly ruined relationship because there was always something to deal with when it came to his life. There was always the next eight and a half hour dinner rush shift or the piles of homework collecting dust on his desk or a new fight breaking out between his siblings. There was scarcely time to inform Rossi of his dead relationship before he was immediately thrusted into the next overwhelming day of his life. So, he reconstructed the walls with practiced ease. If nobody saw that he was struggling to handle all the overlapping aspects of his life, he wasn’t really struggling, right?

If only that were how it worked.

“I know you do, man,” Rossi comforts with a shrug, lowering himself into one of the seats at their table. Hotch follows suit, needing a break from being on his feet. “But they’re not gonna be good if you’re walking around stressing out about every little thing 24/7.” His best friend points out bluntly, always willing to point out the obvious that Hotch has the tendency to ignore. 

Hotch merely scoffs, pushing a hand through his hair. “I think I’m allowed to stress out about Derek engulfing our kitchen in a yam-fueled inferno.” He counters, jerking his head towards the kitchen. Rossi chuckles slightly, indulging in Hotch’s hysteria for a quick second before focusing his attention back on the priority of disarming his best friend’s frenzied mentality.

“Okay, so one  _ minor _ thing went wrong. That’s it. Don’t bend over backwards trying to make everything perfect because it’s just not gonna be,” Rossi explains for what feels like the hundredth time in their friendship. For as long as he’s known him, it’s always been that way. Hotch overreacts (in Rossi’s opinion) and Rossi helps him through it and brings him back down to reality. Of course, Hotch is always there to remind Rossi of the practicality and responsibility of sometimes overreacting, so they tend to balance each other out relatively well. “You can’t fix everything.” Dave concludes with an air of relaxed nonchalance. In his heart, Hotch wants to dispute that claim but he merely lets it go with a single exhalation. Some battles aren’t worth fighting. Especially on Thanksgiving.

“You’re right, man,” He relents, feeling the weight loosen considerably from his shoulders as he does so. “Thank you,” He adds genuinely, standing up from his seat and regathering the discarded napkins from the table. “You interested in helping or are you just gonna sit here and eat all of the food we made today?” He quips in a teasing manner as he regards his best friend.

“I think we both know what I’m gonna do.” Rossi grins mischievously, raising both of his dark eyebrows. Hotch chuckles lightly, the conversation and brief break from the unadulterated chaos of their kitchen working to rejuvenate him enough to head back. 

This was okay. He wasn’t going to stress. He could do this. He could be as relaxed as Rossi or as carefree as Derek. He was totally chill.  _ Nothing  _ was going to kill his mood— not burnt yams, or ex girlfriends, or even—

“JJ! Get your hand away from that pie right now!”

Maybe he could start his new stress free life tomorrow. After all, somebody had to stop the house from exploding that afternoon, and who else was there but him for the job?

xxx

Shockingly, they manage to set the table with their somewhat improvised Thanksgiving meal just three and a half hours later.

It takes some effort to drag Derek and Rossi away from that afternoon’s football game playing on their worn out TV set in the living room, a considerable amount of willpower to get everyone seated in the best formation (why did he agree to so many people coming over anyway?), and a few accidentally smashed glasses courtesy of Penelope (in all fairness, Spencer did happen to be in the way), but they’re finally able to sit down to dinner at around 5pm that evening, welcoming the new additions of Alex, Elle, and Mick to their table that year as well. 

Of course, everybody’s starving at this point, but that definitely doesn’t stop Hotch from launching into a pre-planned speech the second they all get situated at the very overcrowded table.

“I think that before we eat--” He declares, but that’s about as far as he gets before Emily lets out an exaggerated groan from across the table, smashing her face into her hands with mock exasperation.

“Oh, here we go,” She huffs sarcastically, raven hair almost falling into her plate of food as she pulls her head up from her palms. “The big Aaron Hotchner speech. Somebody time him, he’s going for the record.” She scoffs, earning a few stifled giggles from Elle and Penelope. Hotch shoots her a (mostly fake) glare from his seat across the table.

“Okay, then the rest of us can eat and Emily can wait.” He retorts teasingly. Emily’s fake scowl hardens into a real one as she processes his statement. 

“A little homophobic if you ask me…” She sighs, her voice trailing off jokingly. This time, Elle and Penelope’s giggles are less stifled, but Hotch ignores them nonetheless. He’s the oldest brother, he gets to make the speech-- that’s the rule.

“I just think we can all go around and say something we’re thankful for, alright? Then we can all eat as many burnt yams as we want.” He offers, his heart skipping a beat as he regards his friends and family with wary uncertainty. He tries to ignore the fact that a week ago, one of these place settings was intended to be for Haley. Now is definitely not the time to focus on that. 

Thankfully, before Emily can offer another sarcastic rebuttal, Alex offers up a warm grin and her approval. 

“I think that’s a great idea, Hotch. You should go first.” She agrees supportively, calming his nerves just slightly. He returns the smile timidly, glad to not be scoffed at for introducing an admittedly corny tradition. Even though Derek and Emily seem less than pleased at the idea, he could care less. Sometimes, cliches were needed, even if everything else wasn’t perfect.

“Alright,” he begins, clearing his throat hesitantly. “Um, I guess I’m thankful for all of you, even if you did each try to sabotage dinner tonight in one way or another,” He announces, noticing Derek and Rossi share a somewhat worrying smirk. He continues nonetheless, letting the words fall from his mouth with ease. “And I’m thankful to be able to take care of you guys and be your older brother, even when you don’t wash your clothes when you’re supposed to so our room smells like a zoo,” he adds, shooting a meaningful look towards a sheepish Derek. “And I’m thankful for all of our friends, even when you thought that we should have a Thanksgiving calzone instead of a Thanksgiving turkey,” He finally concludes, focusing his pointed look towards Rossi instead and earning a few laughs from around the table as he does so. “So...yeah. Thanks.” he scoffs, trying to ignore the subtle blush that creeps up upon his cheeks and neck at the honest declarations he just shared. 

“Here, here!” Emily ends up cheering in support, raising her plastic cup of sparkling apple juice. A bit of the liquid sloshes over sloppily and stains the cheap tablecloth right next to Mick’s plate and Hotch fights the urge to roll his eyes at his sister’s antics.

“Yeah... we don’t really need to do that after every speech.” He disarms her, hoping that she’ll drop it but knowing very well that she has no intentions to.

“Too late! My turn,” She declares with a grin, setting her cup down by her plate. “Uh, let’s see, I’m thankful for Elle for being the most amazing...gal pal--” She begins with a mischievous smirk and that familiar glint in her dark eyes. The statement seems to be a particular insufferable inside joke between the two girls because Elle immediately ducks her head, scrunching up her nose in distaste at the proposed phrase.

“I will smack you so hard.” The other girl deadpans and the rest of the table laughs in earnest at the threat, knowing that she probably wouldn’t hesitate.

“Fine,” Emily chuckles, rolling her eyes in defeat. “The most amazing...girlfriend I could ask for,” She relents, a similar blush dusting her cheeks as she speaks the words aloud. “And I’m thankful for Mick for being the most annoying best friend I could ask for. And I’m thankful for all of you guys,” she concludes. “Even you, Der Bear.” She adds hastily with a nod towards Derek who merely glares back.

“Hilarious. You ever consider doing stand-up?” The other boy scoffs sarcastically. Emily merely sticks her tongue out at the comment, considering this to be a fair rebuttal. “Alright, guess I’ll go next,” Derek resigns, staring only somewhat longingly at the food in front of them. “Uhh, I’m thankful for the Bears kicking the Lions’ ass--” He begins but Hotch shoots him a warning look before he can continue his football related speech. 

“Language.” He chides, ignoring Rossi’s eye roll next to him. Derek huffs at the admonishing, but continues nonetheless.

“Okay, okay. I’m also thankful for Pen hooking her laptop up so I can watch the Saints game tonight,” He adds, predictably focusing on the most important aspect of Thanksgiving for himself. “And I’m thankful for you guys for being there for me even when I’m being the world’s biggest jerk. Thank you.” He finishes hastily, the honest confession probably forcing him to his limit of emotional boundaries that evening. Luckily, Emily comes in to fill the awkward silence once more.

“Here, here!” She cheers again and Hotch stifles a groan.

“That’s gonna get old real quick.” He points out, but is all but ignored before JJ speaks up.

“I’m thankful for pumpkin pie.” She pipes up, hungrily eyeing the signature dish she had prepared earlier that afternoon that rests on the side of the table closer to Alex and Spencer. Everybody chuckles lightly at her declaration.

“Anything else?” Hotch prompts, raising his eyebrows accusingly. 

“Oh! And all of you. Obviously.” The youngest girl grins, her blue eyes lighting up with youthful exuberance as she does so. 

“Here, here!” Both Emily and Rossi end up cheering this time.

“I’m thankful for...for...oh geez,” Penelope starts off strong but that’s as far as she gets before the telltale signs of tears start appearing in her eyes and her throat begins to audibly close up. “Hold on, don’t look at me,” She sniffles, ducking her head slightly as she removes the hot pink frames of her glasses from her nose. “Sorry, I get a little weepy when it comes to this type of thing,” She admits with a cough. “I just...just love you guys so much! And I’ve-- I’ve never had--” She attempts to continue, but ends up wholly unsuccessful in her attempts before a complete round of tears threatens to cut her off. 

“Okay, it’s alright babygirl.” Derek immediately intervenes with a chuckle, passing her a napkin from the center of the table for her to dab at the corners of her eyes. For a moment, all they hear are her light sniffles until the familiar Emily-led cheer interjects once more, this time joined in by half of the table in awkward reluctance.

“Here, here!”

Hotch’s eyes scan the table briefly, searching for somebody who hasn’t spoken yet to offer up what they feel thankful for. This is dragging out for a lot longer than he anticipated. Why did he think this was a good idea again? Finally, his eyes land on his youngest brother.

“Spence?” He prompts, prodding the kid a little bit to encourage him to share. Besides, they need to eat at some point tonight.

“Oh, um, alright,” the youngest boy relents, clearing his throat slightly before beginning. “I’m thankful for Alex for being my best friend but...she’s not my first friend,” He opens, offering a consoling smile to Alex after he speaks these words aloud. “No offense, Alex.” He adds meaningfully and the older girl chuckles gently.

“None taken.” She admits with an earnest grin. 

“You guys were my, um, my first friends,” he confesses, turning his focus to the members of their fragmented family gathered around the table. “Before I came to live here I didn’t talk to anybody my age unless I was literally forced to. All I had were stories, but it’s not the same as having friends. Or the same as having, y’know, a family,” Spencer continues, earning a few well-deserved sniffles from Penelope’s side of the table. “I could throw myself into reading every book the world has to offer, but the knowledge I get from learning from you guys couldn’t compare to anything I could read in a book,” He admits shyly, brushing a fallen lock of his brunette hair from his eyes before dropping his gaze to focus on the worn second-hand tablecloth below. “You’ve all taught me so much about how to be strong or brave or kind and I couldn’t ask for a better family. I love you guys. Thank you for being there for me.” He concludes timidly, a dark blush firmly established on his pale face. 

There’s no annoying cheer from Emily to button that speech, probably due to the unabashed shock they’re all subdued into after hearing those words spoken aloud. Even Penelope’s sniffles have (even temporarily) subsided at the meaningful words of their youngest brother. For once in the history of their collective household, none of them had a single word to say. No witty remark to follow up just about the most emotional speech any of them had ever been faced with. 

“I think...we can eat now.” Hotch interrupts, breaking the silence after a prolonged second. However, before everyone can help themselves to some of the food disseminated across their cramped table, Rossi interjects as he claps Hotch on the shoulder.

“Hold up!” His best friend halts, ignoring the glare Emily sends his way at being interrupted from the food she was serving herself. “I’m thankful for you, Hotch. Nobody could do what you’re doing and still hold it together,” David points out honestly and Hotch doesn’t hesitate to duck his head in slight embarrassment at the declaration. “You’re fucking insane, man, but that’s why you’re my best friend.” Rossi grins, earning an eye roll from Hotch at his choice of words.

“Language.” He chides, but the grin on his face suggests he’s anything but annoyed. 

“Here, here!” Emily cheers in finality, followed by a few stragglers around the table that cheer along in agreement. 

“Yeah, Hotch. You’re pretty alright sometimes.” Derek adds with a cocky grin, reaching across the table to serve himself some of the instant mashed potatoes located right by Mick’s arm. 

“I  _ guess _ we can keep you around.” Spencer teases, grinning up at his older brother.

“For now…” Penelope warns, her voice still wavering as she backs away from the brink of tears and Hotch, for once, doesn’t actively try to wipe the grin off of his face and restore his ever-serious facade. 

“Alright, let’s just eat already!” JJ explodes impatiently and the whole table dissolves into a round of laughter at her interjection. 

Hotch can’t help but focus on Spencer’s honest, heartbreaking words or Rossi’s overly indulgent speech or even Emily’s stupid cheer for the rest of dinner. Because, for once, there’s not some far too familiar pit of dread building up in his chest warning him to stay on his guard and be alert for present danger. There’s no work to be done or problems to handle aside from the dishes afterwards and wiping down the table at the end of night. For once, there’s absolutely nothing to worry about outside of just sitting down and enjoying his night with his best friends and his family.

He couldn’t ask for anything more. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for reading, i hope u enjoyed!! let me know what u think!


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